They have those little sensor thingies on cars now that let you know when you are getting close to the cars on opposite sides of you while parallel parking. While I think they are super groovy, I would like someone to invent a similar product for people. I would go so far as to say 95% of the population has no awareness of themself in space. Yes, they are aware of the fact that they have arms and legs and stuff, but they have no idea where those appendages are in relation to anything surrounding them. For example:

I went to see Sander spin this weekend. I love watching him spin. He picks such great records and he really loves what he does. His smile lights up the whole room. It really is a joy to watch him work. However, the venue where he spun on Friday night was the worst club I think I have ever been to. Geographically, it was laid out to make the sound suck ass. And it was filled with meterosexuals and the women who love them. Everywhere I looked, there were a million guys wearing khaki pants and button-down Oxford shirts, properly zujed at the sleeves, unbuttoned to about nipple depth, with WAY too much product in their hair. And they all had the attitude that everyone there -- not just the women, but everyone there -- should fall in love with them on sight and if they didn't, they weren't worth spitting on. And then the women -- mini-skirts with pink bows, tiny tops that you can't wear a bra with, pastel eye shadow and sparkly lip gloss, bopping back and forth ever so gently in the hopes that some guy will see them shake their petite little ass and want a piece of that because these boys are so dreamy! (Sorry, I got a little carried away there.) I felt like a total outcast because I was clothed. But anyway, I focused on Sander and danced my little heart out because I really do love it when he spins and I tried not to pay attention to the people around me. Which eventually proved to be impossible. It wasn't so much the neverending stream of people walking from the bar at one end of the room to the bar at the other end of the room by way of the middle of the dance floor. And it wasn't so much the guy with porn star sunglasses who slammed into my shoulder and proceeded to unbutton his shirt completely so he could stand where fucknut was dancing, all the time saying, "My bad, man." It was the guy who insisted on dancing with both hands in the air with such abandon that he whacked me in the head. Twice. And the girl wearing stiletto heels who decided it would be a good idea to get on her friend's back and do a donkey kick. Into my thigh.

I understand that often times, when people go to concerts such as this, they are in an altered state of mind. That's fine. But in such crowded conditions, I don't care how fucked up you are, pay attention to where your limbs are and please try to make sure that they are not trying to overtake a bit of space already occupied by another person's eye.

Maybe if people were equipped with proximity sensors, this would cease to be an issue.

I'm kind of trying to take steps towards being a girl. Or, more girly than I have been in the past umpteen years. For example, today, after my five mile training walk and trip to the organic fruit and vegetable store, I took a shower and put on shorts. Yup, you heard me. Shorts. I've spent the entire day in shorts. Barefoot, too. Granted, I haven't left my house, but I think it is a step in the right direction. The only question becomes will I still like myself when I'm a girl? I guess if I don't, I can always go back to my corduroy pants.

Is it possible that that is all there is? And if so, how sad is that?

I think it is sort of a requirement that if you have a strange name, you have to become famous in some sense. If it is a weird last name, then it is okay for just one person in your family to become famous, but someone has to. Why? So you don't have to spend your whole life explaning to people how your name should be pronounced. "Hi, my name is Mark Grudzielanek." "What?" "Grudzielanek." "What?" "Smith." No, if you're famous, you tell one interview or television station or something how to pronounce your name and they tell everyone else for you. It's a convenience, really.

So if you find yourself the proud owner of a particularly odd name, just get famous. People will stop bugging you about it.

So Sander Kleinenberg is spinning tomorrow night. I, of course, plan on going after my Bowling for Boobs gig. And, silly me, I just remembered that Sander is...ready for this?...drum roll please...DUTCH! Yup, born and raised in Holland. How stupid would I look trying to speak to him in Dutch? "Ik houd van de manier u verslagen spint." "Dank u. Spreekt u het Nederlands?" "Nr, meer ik wil leren." And voila, I'm an idiot. Why? For trying my Dutch unannounced on some total stranger who also happens to be the recipient of countless international awards for his work. Does that look like I'm hitting on him? Yes. Am I? Not necessarily. I wouldn't be opposed to hitting on Sander Kleinenberg, but that wouldn't be my intention. It's not every day I run into somebody who speaks Dutch and whenever I learn a new language, I always get this sneaking suspicion that they are teaching me the wrong words. So I'd like to try out my Dutch on someone to see if he gives me a really weird look or if he actually understands what I am saying. And to say to him, "I love the way you spin records," seems pretty harmless, yes? I could just be a fan. Granted, I'll probably chicken out, but regardless, Sander is spinning tomorrow which makes me insanely happy. And he's Dutch. I knew I liked him for a reason.

Happy birthday today to fucknut and Owen. Or as they say in Holland, gelukwensen mit uw verjaardag.

I'm so proud of myself. I picked up a younger man last night.

So I'm walking to class, right, and as I'm crossing the street, I see a guy standing on the corner wearing a Moby t-shirt. So as I get close enough, I say in a very off-handed, casual manner, "I like your shirt. Moby's cool." And we ended up walking about four blocks together (city blocks, mind you), talking about music and stuff. He's a sophomore at the university where I work, which I'm guessing would make him about 19. Maybe 20. And it was good conversation -- not too serious, not too frivolous. And at the end of the walk when he had to go do what it was he was out walking to do, he introduced himself to me. I always take that as a good sign when the other party feels the need to introduce him/herself. I started the conversation and now he would like to make sure we know who the other person is. We didn't exchange any contact information or anything, but I was all proud of myself for talking to a stranger, for kinda picking up a younger guy, and for being cool enough that I think he had a little crush on me by the time we parted ways. Yes, I am sad and goofy like that, but I was proud of myself. So there.

I always get this strange fear after I create something that it will be the last thing I create. I remember even after I wrote my first song, thinking to myself, "Wow, I've created something and I'm spent. I'll never write another song again. 'That's What You Get' will be my contribution to the world of music." Because when you make something, when you create something artistic, your entire mind and heart and body and spirit go into the creation of it. It is a release of everything you have inside you at that particular moment in time and frankly, it's exhausting. You're spent. And you think (or at least I do) that you won't be able to do it again, or that if you do, it won't be as good.

But what I have come to realize is that I will create more things. I am an artist in my own right. I will do more plays, I will do more films, I will write more songs, I will try yet again to draw a picture that doesn't look like something my almost-one-year-old honorary nephew spit up. As good as I am at math and science, and as much as personality tests and whatnot try to tell me that I should be an accountant or something like that, I am an artist. I create. I feel the need to, so I do it. And I have surrounded myself with enough tools that I can create whenever I need to. Wow, I just started a sentence with a conjunction and ended it with a preposistion. I should be fired for that. But it's my style! That's how I write! I'm an artist so I can do that!

The song I wrote last night was running through my head all morning on the train. I don't think I'm done with it yet, and the more I work on it, the more I like it. I think my theater friend will like it too, because it kind of does but kind of doesn't sound like the rest of my stuff. And I'm kind of proud of myself (in a really weird way) because it utilizes a boatload of bar chords. Power chords, if you will. And it is kind of bitter, kind of uplifting. I intend it to be a power song, so power chords are appropriate, I think. I'm excited for people to hear this one. When I'm done with it.

I'm sure I looked like an idiot, buying an eight dollar package of guitar strings with a credit card. I felt like I should apologize to the guy -- "I don't get paid until Friday and I'm desperate to play." But I didn't. I just bought my strings and went on about my day. And it's a good thing, too, because I think I finished a song. I can't decide yet what the title should be. My working title was "Not a Girl," but now I almost want to call it "Man of the Year." Yeah, kind of a switch, I know, but since when do my titles ever make sense?

And I think I have some new readers. Or, if you're not new, at least I just found out about you recently. So hello. Welcome. Feel free to poke around in the archives and visit some of the neat little things linked over on the side there. Especially the Avon Walk stuff.

Ugh, long day. Lots to say and not much time to say it, so I'll just leave you with these two little tidbits for right now.

1. As per usual, the universe provides. Thanks.
2. Everyone in the world would be much happier if they ate more vegetables. Veggies just make everything better.
3. I love the Chicago Cubs.

Okay, that was three things, but I'm feeling better today than I have been a while. Interesting developments over the weekend that I will tell you about later when I have more time. I've bumped up my raw/straight vegetable consumption and it makes me feel good. As does baseball. And as we all know, win or lose, the Cubs are the best team in baseball. You don't fall in love with a team or a ballpark the way Cubs fan love the Cubs and love Wrigley Field. I'm glad the season is officially open. Regardless of their record, I plan on watching/listening to a bunch of games this year.

So yeah, life is okay as long as there are vegetables, baseball, and faith in the universe involved. Fortunately I have all three today.

I think what we all need to remember is that the Presidency is a job, just like any other job, except your job review comes around every four years instead of every year. And if you have not performed your job well, you should be fired. You should not be given another four years to continue to do a bad job.

If you were the CEO of a company, and you plunged that company into a record deficit, you would be fired. If you were the CEO of a company who made choices that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of your employees, you would be fired. If you were a CEO who made choices that would result in your office building no longer having a good ventilation system or clean running water, you would be fired. If you were a CEO who refused to listen to what your Board of Directors was telling you, you would be fired. The man currently holding the title of the President of the United States has done all of those things and more. He has plunged our country into a record deficit. He has made choices that have resulted in the deaths of hundreds of Americans and thousands of Iraqis. He is pushing for legislation that rapes our environment and will ensure that our grandchildren won't have beautiful national forests to visit when they go on vacation with their families. He has publicly stated that he doesn't care what the people say because they don't know what is best for the country because they don't have all of the information, yet he refuses to give us even a hint as to what kind of information we are lacking. And his job review is coming up in November. It's high time he was fired. He has wreaked so much havoc upon our Constitution in the last three and a half years, why the hell should we give him another four to pervert it further? It's as simple as that.

I feel the need to clarify.

I wrote an entry the other day, I thought, about my frustration with the fact that because I am so unhappy with so many other things in my life right now, the old thoughts I used to have about my physical appearance started creeping back into my head. It seems, however, that I actually wrote an entry about the need to go on a diet. This was not my intention. I have received several e-mails from you, my beloved readers, offering diet advice. And while I love to hear from you, my beloved readers, that's not what that entry was supposed to be about. It was an admission of the fact that my mental resolve is somewhat weakened right now because there are a lot of things in my life that I wish were different, i.e. my job, etc. I don't want to go on a diet. I don't want to become obsessive about working out. And even thinking about my weight turns me into a bitter, cranky, depressed person. So I don't want to think about it. I don't want it to even be an issue. It's the same as if I were to rail on how ridiculous it is that our current government wants to ban gay marriage. In such an entry, I would not be saying that I want to marry another woman, just that I think the politics are goofy. I don't want to diet; I think my own thought processes are goofy. Dig?

So thank you all for your concern. Thank you for the little reminders that you think I look great, but that you are there if I want/need dieting advice. I don't. I want it to not be an issue, so I am going to work on loving myself no matter what my pant size is. And I honestly believe that if I don't think about it, I'll be fine. The human body is an amazing thing that takes care of itself really well.

I, to this day, don't understand why they call it Good Friday. I understand that Jesus died for our sins and whatnot, but especially after seeing The Passion of the Christ, I have a really hard time seeing what is so good about this particular Friday. They were really cruel to him. By which I am not intending to place blame on one particular group of people or another, but rather on the specific people who beat him and whatnot. I don't know if you've seen Mel's film or not, but it's pretty gruesome and the guys doing the whipping and whatnot are being really cruel to Jesus. That's all I'm saying with that. And because of that, I have a hard time seeing why this should be called Good Friday. Black Friday, maybe. Or Red Friday. Yeah, his destiny was sort of fulfilled, but it was a really horrid destiny. The good stuff doesn't really happen until Sunday.

Yes, I realize I am sounding ignorant in the ways of religion. Maybe because I am. But I will say that I have noticed that historically, we seem to have really nice weather on Good Friday. Proof or coincidence, I don't know. Either way, I hope you all get to go outside and enjoy this lovely Friday that commemorates some really horrible things that happened a long time ago.

I had a really horrible thought yesterday. I thought I should go on a diet.

I know, I know, I've been going on and on for the longest time about how I think I look good and stuff. And about how it shouldn't matter that I'm not built like a lollipop, it's about talent and how much you love people and how much they love you and all that rot. But I had a moment of weakness and thought I should try to lose some weight. Honestly, it wouldn't kill me. Then again, the few pounds it wouldn't kill me to lose won't kill me if I keep them, either.

I'll tell you what sparked the whole thing, though. I heard about a role in a film that I want. I have not yet seen the script, but it is by a director/writer who I worked with before and I really like the way he writes. And preliminary reports say that this script is better than the last one I worked with him on. And the lead female is...drum roll please...a rock star. Yeah, I heard about this while I had my guitar slung around my neck. I made very loud "ahem" type sounds in the direction of the guy telling me about the script (who is tight with the writer/director and who also worked on the last film I worked on with this writer/director) and he said he has been trying to sell me to the writer/director for this role for the last six months. And part of me says I have this in the bag. I've worked with him before. He knows what I can do. He knows I will give this role everything I have and he knows I can do it standing on my head with one hand tied behind my back. Plus, I am a rock star. I have a fourteen track demo CD that I can give him, I'm working on about five or six new songs (I need to learn to take pen and paper with me when I'm walking or a little tape recorder or something because I keep coming up with lyrics and melodies that I half-forget by the time I get home to my guitar. I am at least able to retain the basic premise for most of the songs, it would just be easier if I recorded my ideas from the get-go instead of trying to recreate them, you know?), any of which could be turned into rock songs with the right producer. Well, not any of them, but enough of them that he could use them in this film and not have to worry so much about buying rights and stuff. Plus, if he used my music in his film -- exposure for me! Yay! Assuming this film is completed in a timely fashion. But I digress. This would be a great role for me and I am 95% sure I could get it. That 5% is comprised of the two wild-card factors that are so undisputable that if I don't have them locked, I won't get the role. First is my chemistry with the lead male. It is a romantic comedy, so I have to work well with the lead male. Granted, if they really really loved me in this role, they might cast him accordingly instead of the other way around, but I think that's kind of stretching it. And let's face it, if I don't mesh with the lead male, there's really nothing I can do about that. And the other factor is my physical appearance. If they don't think I look like a rock star, oh well. Which is what brought me to the weight loss thing. I have a nice face with fantastic big eyes. Hair can be styled, but ever since I discovered a blow dryer, I have that nice, straight bob type thing going on. It's a sassy cut. It could work for a rocker. Or I could grow it out longer and look like Liz Phair or something. Tee hee. And I have really nice legs. Very shapely. A great rack. It's the middle section that is a problem. I'm not a stick and a lot of the rock stars out there are, let's face it, twiggy. So I was thinking that if I dropped some weight, the only real thing I would have to worry about as far as getting this role or not would be my chemistry with the lead guy.

But thinking that I needed to keep track of every calorie I injested, even just for one day, turned me into this horrible, bitter, grumpy, angry person. I spent way too much time doing that in my youth and it made me miserable. And, I think, one of the things that makes me so charming is the fact that I am comfortable with who I am. There are so many other things in my life that are frustrating me right now; why on earth would I actively pursue something knowing it is going to make me miserable? I don't need that right now.

Granted, I probably eat too many peanut butter filled pretzels from Trader Joe's. Because they are laced with crack. So tasty. Okay, I can cut back on that. And it wouldn't kill me to eat more veggies. But I'm not going to count calories or fat grams or carbohydrate grams or anything else like that. I'm going to continue to eat when I am hungry and I am going to continue getting exercise. And I just might e-mail that writer/director to let him know that I am interested in at least seeing the script. But I'm not going to subject myself to a starvation diet in the hopes that I might one day get a role. I'm done with that phase of my life.

Welcome to Miss Kitty's Wonderful World of Bitterness!

Please keep in mind as you read the following entry that it is not directed at anyone in particular, but more a result of this pseudo crisis of faith I am currently experiencing. Should you have any doubts or concerns, my dear readers, may I invite you to peruse the archives section of this journal, specifically entries from approximately one year ago. You will see that I have a pseudo crisis of faith just about yearly in the spring. And I always come out of them okay, just like I will this year. So now, if you are ready for a little bitterness, read on!

It is kind of sad that we live in a culture that celebrates absolute stupidity. By which I mean take a look around at the number of people who are famous for being dumb. Are these people you would trust your children with? Hell, your children could probably teach these people a thing or two. And before you all berate me for being overly judgmental, let me put the disclaimer on here that I have never met any of these people personally, so I am unaware of the charming, redeeming qualities that they undoubtedly possess. However, their images in the media protray them as idiots. Don't believe me? Don't see it? Watch the Newlyweds. Pick up a copy of the Bushisms day-by-day calendar. The sheer ignorance displayed by these people in the media is sickening, and what is even more irritating is that we, as a culture, love these stupid people. We love seeing men get hit in the nuts. We thrive on home videos of people falling down. What is it about stupidity that is so appealing? Why the hell are there so many reality TV shows?

Yes, I am being bitter, ranty, and judgmental. Part of it is in fun. Part of it is to blow off some steam. I see a lot of very intelligent, talented people around me who just can't make it work for one reason or another. And then I turn on the television and see morons trying to sell me dish detergent and it makes me sad. I'm sorry, but it does. I don't know if it was ever this way, but if it was, I'd like to go back to a time wherein intelligence, creativity, oration, and talent were celebrated instead of idiocy.

Or maybe I've just lost my sense of humor.

Work is, admittedly, much easier to stomach when I have things to do. We've finally met regarding the website I started designing for my office over a year ago. And now that I have some suggestions for things to do with it, I can actually start doing them. It's cool. Sort of exercises my creative side.

But I need to get out of here. I'm ready to move on to the next installment of my life. One wherein I am happy as a productive member of society, not a paper-pusher. I heard about another film that I would be perfect for the lead in and I'm tempted to e-mail the director (who I have worked with before) and let him know that I would do the film in an instant. Without having seen the script (only heard about it), I will do the film. If he wants me to. Keep your fingers crossed for me, would ya? I'm coming up on four years at this job and I said that if I make it to five, I'm jumping off the roof.

You know what else is good for the soul? Baseball. I never realize how much I miss baseball until I get the chance to watch a game again. I watched some spring training last night and it was so good to see my Cubbies in action. To watch them get through eight batters in the first inning, to start off with a nice lead. To watch them get tired as the game progresses. It will be nice to watch an actual game where someone like Maddux is allowed to pitch more than three innings. Where everybody is putting everything they have into the game. And I have to admit, in a really strange way, it did my heart a lot of good to see Maddux back in a Cubs uniform. And it is nice to know that he's still got it.

Hooray for baseball season. Though it is kind of scary that I am beginning to understand Ken Burns...

I think one of my favorite series of scenes in movie history is the series of scenes in Harold and Maude wherein Harold learns to play the banjo. It all starts with Maude saying, "Everybody should be able to make some music -- that's the cosmic dance," and she hands him a banjo and sets him to playing a few simple chords. By the end, boy and banjo are inseparable. And it is so true.

I played my guitar a lot last night. It is one of those things that kind of comes in spurts -- sometimes I'll play an hour every day for two weeks, then I won't pick the thing up for a month. I'm on an upswing of playing, I think. I came up with a couple of chord progressions that I want to play with some more to turn them into actual songs. And I'm learning a few new cover songs so the next time I get a chance to play out, I can play something people are currently hearing on the radio and perhaps they will sing along. But there is something so wonderful about making music. It truly heals your soul.

Go out and get yourself an instrument. Even if it is just a tambourine or a harmonica. I don't think there is anything more important that you could spend money on for yourself than a way to make music. It feeds your mind and soul and keeps you healthy. I wonder if there have ever been any medical studies done on musicians versus non-musicians to determine who is healthier or at higher risk for certain diseases. Probably not as a lot of musicians pump their bodies full of foreign substances that end up killing them. But I think it could be an interesting study. Apparently listening to music while you work out will make you smarter. Imagine all of the other curative properties music might have. Maybe that is why Keith Richards is still alive.

Watch out. I'm gonna be girlie for a minute.

For those people who think that shampoo is shampoo is shampoo, I would like to offer up proof that this is, in fact, not the case. I have found what I believe to be the best shampoo in the world.

I've used this shampoo before -- it was actually the first vegan shampoo I tried. But then, sadly, the store where I purchased it lost contact with their distributor and I was forced to try other vegan shampoos. And while those other shampoos were fine, I missed my first vegan shampoo. So every once in a while, I go online and look around for it. It's not easy to find, but I finally found it and ordered some. A couple of bottles so I won't run out for a while. And lemme tell you, the difference between my hair today and my hair yesterday is amazing. It doesn't look all that different -- still shiny and stuff. But when you run your fingers through it, you are convinced that this is what hair should feel like. Light, soft, smooth. It felt good yesterday, too, but this is a pretty remarkable difference. I've always known that I have great hair. I was actually upset once when I didn't get a role in college because this other chick supposedly had better hair than I and there is some line in the show about what great hair she has so that's what they based their decision on. Even though she couldn't act her way out of a box. But anyway. I digress. I have great hair, and a lot of it. But using this particular shampoo, well, I feel almost invincible, my hair is so good. I wish I could do commercials for this company, I like their product so much. All organic, completely vegan friendly, smells really nice, does things to your hair you didn't know a shampoo could do. If you have the means, I highly recommed picking up a bottle. Or two. It looks like they are on sale today. And get the matching conditioner, too. It's really lovely.

I really should get my butt in gear and put up my actual website. Not that I don't like this one, mind you. It's kind of nice and unimposing. But I just spent some time googling persons from my past and a few of them have really cool websites. I'm so proud of some of them for the things they have accomplished. I'm glad to see that some of us who weren't so happy in high school have gone on to make things out of ourselves. High school is not the end all be all of existence. Can you tell I've seen too many episodes of that "High School Reunion" show?

But then I come here to my cute little website. That hasn't even changed formats in probably over a year. Yes, the content changes, but not the format. And there is more content I would like to put up on a website, like groovy photos and perhaps an mp3 or two and info about where and when I'm performing and all that jazz. I have such a website constructed, kind of, I just haven't put it up anywhere yet. I should get on that so that when people google me, they are greeted with pretty pictures and stuff and not just the random dribblings of my brain.

I can't even begin to tell you how frustrated I am today. I just found out that there was a problem with my mid-term that I took online on Saturday and was told on Saturday was fine and now I have to retake the damn thing. By midnight Friday. In between work and school and training and all of the rest of the crap I have to do this week. I know a lot of that is my own fault for taking on a million projects at once, but even if I skip my after work Friday training walk to do this test, I still have a lot of reading to do for the same class, plus big assignments for my other classes to work on, too. Can we say ARGH!?!?!?

But as my classmate said, focus on the good things in life, the important things in life -- cats, music, beer, and getting back to Europe.

I've been learning Dutch phrases online from a couple of different websites and I now talk to my cat in Dutch whenever I can. I figure he's not going to laugh at me and I can get comfortable with how I sound saying those words. Granted, he also won't correct my pronunciation or anything, but at least I can try, yes? I like speaking Dutch to my cat. Mijn zoete aap.

Beer. I could use one. I know it is only nine o'clock in the morning, but how would you feel if you found out that an exam you spent two hours working on and went through the extra effort of e-mailing it to your instructor in addition to submitting answers online to make sure he got all of your answers didn't actually get through to him and now you have to redo the whole thing, or just redo the essay part and he'll make them worth double the points that they would have been worth? Yeah, you'd probably want a beer to calm down, too.

Music. I've learned a couple of new songs on my guitar. And I think on Saturday afternoon, one of my aspiring photographer friends who wants practice shooting people is going to take pictures of me and my guitar. Hopefully arty type stuff. Anything to make me feel more like a musician, you know?

And I am going in to do ADR on Leftover Voices in a couple of weeks. It's almost done. I can almost see it. And you can almost see it. I hope she sends it to every festival in the United States and beyond. Because let's be honest -- I don't want to be a paralegal.

Is it wrong in a public restroom to stand and wait for one particular stall?

I need to work on owning my femininty. How many times have I written something in this journal about me not being a real girl or apologizing for being a stupid puddle of girl or something like that? I need to stop saying things like that. I am female. There are a lot of wonderful things that come with being female. And I'm not even talking the really obvious things like the ability to create life. I'm talking about the ability to hug and kiss my friends when I feel like doing so. The ability to cry in pubic. The ability to wear fun, flowy clothing. The ability to have beautiful hair and do fun things with it. The delicacy and grace of walking around in a female body. The strenght that comes with being a woman. There is a lot to be celebrated there.

So yeah, I'm going to work on that. The same way I am good at owning my faults and I need to work on owning my good qualities, I need to work on owning my feminity. I'm kind of looking forward to working on that one.

You all know I've been kind of down as of late. Frustrated with where things are in my life right now. Which is why last night was so amazing for me. I got helpful, useful advice from an absolute stranger. Yes, I know it sounds odd. And yes, I will explain.

We all know, also, that I have this little voice in the back of my head that has been telling me for the past, I don't know how long, that people keep telling me that they like the music I write because they are my friends and there is the novelty factor of "Hey, my friend wrote a song." I know it is paranoid of me to think that and I have been pretty good for a while now about realizing that it is entirely possible and even probable that my friends like my music because it is good music that speaks to them in one way or another. And the more pseudo-strangers hear it and like it, the more that possibility increases in my mind. But still, I wonder sometimes. Especially when I am frustrated with where my life is or isn't going.

So last night, I went to do karoke. Just to be cheesy and have some fun and do something different with a Thursday night. And it was fun. I got to see a couple of friends who I haven't seen in a really long time and I got to hear one of them sing and I was reminded what an incredible voice he has. Which of course, made me self-conscious because I could hear the nervousness in my own voice. But anyway. It was fun for a while. But once they started slaughtering some really great songs, my friends and I decided it was time to leave and go visit our bartender friend at a bar across the street. I had thought at this point about just going home, but man am I glad I didn't.

There was a live band at this other bar -- two guys, one on guitar, one on keyboards and vocals. They were really good, a lot of fun, and the guy on vocals had an Irish accent. He welcomed us when we walked in the door and had the whole bar cheer for us. It was cheesy. It was fun. But then my bartender friend asks me if I would get up and do a song. I was feeling kind of sassy, so I said sure. And sure enough, they had me go up and play two songs. (For those of you wondering, I played "Hamburg" and "Astoria Park.") First of all, let me say that the guitar the one guy let me borrow was so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommed picking one up. And second, I don't know how much the people in the bar dug my songs, but my friends (including the bartender) were happy to hear me play, so I was happy. And while that may sound like the cool part that has lifted my spirits, it isn't. Yes, it gets better.

I thanked the guitar guy on my way out and got to chat with him for a minute. He complimented my voice and was just very gracious. And then I went to thank the other guy for letting me play and he sort of launched into a discussion about my musical career. I didn't ask for advice, but he started giving it. And it was good. It was useful. It was constructive. Things like I should stick with an acoustic guitar for the sound and dynamic range that it has. Things like I have a really nice voice and people like to hear women sing and I should go rent a practice space for a couple of hours so I get used to working with a mic and an amp. Things like I should learn some songs that I may not necessarily like just to make myself more accessible to a bar-type crowd because those are the gigs that pay. And then I can pepper those sets with my more up-beat original tunes. I know a lot of it was common sense stuff, and a lot of it, I have heard before from other people. But somehow last night, it got through. Here was a working musician talking to me about working in music. He was enthusiastic and honest and complimented my voice, my guitar playing, and "Hamburg," and he had ideas for how I could get out there and start actually playing for people. And it got through.

So I'm happy today, and enthusiastic. And I'll be visiting OLGA a little later today to get some chords for some bar-friendly songs. If I'm going to do this, I should do it, right? He also said that it is a matter of how badly you want it. You can stick with the gigs that don't pay, but where you get to play all of your own stuff, but they never ask you back, or you can go for gigs that pay better, you are asked back, but you have to play a couple of tunes you don't really dig. I think I could handle playing one or two that I'm not crazy about. And hell, this is a good opportunity to learn some Janis or something, like I've wanted to for a long time.

I'm excited and feeling positive. There are things that I can do now to get where I want to be. And I am doing them. En, mijn kat is goed.

Admittedly, I have mixed feelings about all of the news that has been coming out as of late to the effect of Bush and his administration not doing everything they could have to prevent the September 11th terrorist attacks on the United States. On the one hand, I am glad that there is definitive evidence out there, being reported on the nightly news and such, showing that our current President is a liar and a fink. I am glad that this information is reaching more people. I am a little bit disconcerted by it, too. I am afraid that the publication of Clarke's book now will be seen by Republicans and staunch Bush supporters as a Democratic campaigning tool. I am afraid that people will discount Clarke's testimony and whatnot saying he is a disgruntled ex-employee just trying to make Bush look bad so he can feel better about himself or something like that. I know that people will find 1,000,001 reasons to not believe a word Clarke is saying and that makes me nervous. Because those people will find new reasons to stand up for Shrub and those are the people who will go to the polls in November.

I saw one article that said that as far back as the Clinton administration, things could have been done to prevent an attack like that on American soil and truth be told, I was happy to see that in print. So that the next time someone throws the "Yeah, like Clinton was any better" argument at me, I can say, "Maybe not, but that's no excuse to keep Shrub around for another four years and let him keep making things worse. Let's learn from our mistakes and keep Junior to one term." Or something along those lines. That article kind of evened the playing field or something. Like it's not just dirt on the Republican party that is being reported in the news right now -- everybody's got problems. Therefore, hopefully, we can overlook some of the biases in the media and just take the news for what it is.

I'm nervous about the election. I have this sinking feeling it is not going to go well. Which may be why the first phrase I looked up in Dutch is "I love you." If I'm going to move to another country, I don't want to be dragging a whole bunch of negativity with me.

So the next time you see me about to order my third GIANT beer, please remind me that a glass of water will taste just about the same and not make me feel like ass in the morning. Thanks.

I should have stayed home today. I'm useless here. I could have napped with Owen until my head decides to rejoin the universe and then I could have finished up some homework and cleaned my apartment. Perhaps studied for my mid-term this weekend. But instead, I am sitting here at work, trying to motivate myself to do some filing. Yay filing. Yes, I am being sarcastic. I hate filing. But it is my job and I have to make money to live on and buy beer with. But if I only had two giant beers instead of three, perhaps I could eek by with a slightly lower paying job. So really, you'd be doing me a favor if you give me water instead of beer.

How is it only 9:46 am?

I think my cat is suffering from PWS -- Pre-Weather Syndrome. He can feel that the weather is changing and full of turmoil right now, so he's going absolutely bonkers. Really. It's worse than usual. I wish I could comfort him, but really all I can do is stay out of his way when he's running laps.

I also wish I could impress upon people the difference between "warm" and "warmer." For while it was "warmer" out this morning than it has been in a long time, it was not "warm" outside. And therefore, there was no need to open every window in the building all the way. Cracking one or two might have been okay. But just because it has reached 45 degrees Farenheit outside is no reason for it to reach 45 degrees Farenheit inside, too.

Thank you.

As per usual, when I think things are going badly, I get good news. I'm being called in to do ADR on Leftover Voices in the next week or so. They will be finishing up the sound mix the first three weeks of April. This means the film is almost done! Three years later, but it is almost done. I can't wait to see it. I can't wait for other people to see it. Which means (just as a warning to all of you out there) that while I can forgive most of you for not seeing other various films and plays that I have been in, you are required to see this one by whatever means necessary. Yes, I will let you all know where and when it will be playing. Just make a mental note that this is required viewing. If you miss it, you are fired.

Thank you. See? It's never as bad as you think it is.

I think the answer, just like it is in my song, is that no, I am not wasting my time being persistent. In very small degrees, my persistence pays off. My friend who still sings "Allowed" in the shower. The little girl who had to hug me on stage a month or so ago. I always said that if I could touch just one person's life with my art, that I would be happy. And I am happy. I can't believe that my art has been embraced the way that it has, and I need to remember to be thankful for that. Even if it is by just a handful of people. Those handful of people are different now, in some small way, because of me. There is an immense sense of satisfaction in that and I need to remind myself about that fact sometimes. Doesn't mean I am going to stop trying to do more. Doesn't even mean I'm going to stop whining or getting down from time to time. It just means that I have the mechanism in place to stop whining when the whining gets too irritating.

I talked to a friend of mine on the phone briefly last night who was experiencing something very similar to what I am, or what I have in the past. He has seen the behavior of another, and has begun to compare people's reactions to him with their reactions to this other person and he is dissatisfied. So he has begun to question himself, to try to figure out what the difference is and if it is something he can change. We couldn't talk very long because he was on his way to work, but I called him back and left him a voice mail that spoke to me, too. I can either be myself and deal with the social ramifications of that decision, knowing full well that I may be lonely or disappointed at times, but that when I find those with whom I connect, they are really connecting with me. Or I can make myself socially acceptable on a grander scale, be surrounded at all times by people who adore me, but have the sinking suspicion in the back of my mind that none of these people really knows me and that if they did, they would no longer adore me. And that most importantly, I need to not compare myself to others. Nobody is better than me and I am better than noone else. We all have different talents. I need to celebrate my talents and recognize my weaknesses. I'm very good at owning my weaknesses. I need to own my good points, too.

So I'm glad I talked to my friend last night. We didn't talk about anything going on in my life, but it was helpful for me just the same. It sounds like there is a lot of soul searching and self-examination going on around the world right now. I wish you all luck. It's not easy. But hang in there. It will be worth it in the end. Hang in there, Kitty.

I think its just that I'm getting frustrated. For every opportunity in my life right now, there also seems to be an accompanying non-opportunity which wins out every time. Without getting specific, let me share with you a little story. And no, this is not an auto-biographical story, it's purely for illustrative purposes.

Girl goes out to bar. Boy sees girl and decides to make a move. Girl thinks boy is cute. Girl and boy spend entire evening talking and having a really wonderful time. Both give the other own phone number. Waiting the requisite X number of days to call, girl calls boy to thank him for a lovely evening. Girl leaves very non-threatening voice mail message for boy because he doesn't answer his phone. Boy does not call girl back. To avoid looking like a psycho stalker, girl does not continue to call boy. Situation dies.

In the above example, girl left the bar thinking that this could be the start of something. This guy was cute and intelligent and showed interest in her. And she thought she was playing it cool by waiting a couple of days to call. But now the ball is in his court. And unless she wants to come off as crazy (which will end the relationship before it begins), there is nothing she can do to get the ball back. I feel like I am in that position in a lot of ways. I left the proverbial bar with an address book full of phone numbers, all of which I have followed up on, and nobody is biting. If I could get one bite, I'd feel a lot better, be it in my professional life, my artistic life, or my personal life; I don't really care which at this point. It all goes back to the fact that I am extremely impatient and as much as I love to learn new things, I want to learn them all RIGHT NOW. I want to know if he loves me. I want to know if my demo is a piece of shit. I want to be able to converse with someone in Dutch. I want to know how audiences will receive my films. I want to know if I can get into a theater in Europe. I've written a new song kind of in response to my trip to Europe and in it is one of my favorite lines that I think I've written (not to be distastefully boastful) -- "Am I wasting time being persistent?" Most of all, I think I would like to be able to ask that question of a million people in regard to a million things and get real answers. Honest answers. Answers that will help me figure out what my next move is. I've been in a holding pattern for so long. Something needs to change. Soon.

Sadly, I have a lot of stuff on my mind that for once I feel the need to stay quiet about. I wish I could write about it, but it's stuff that I don't want in print yet. I think I need to make some sense out of it first before I publicize it. But I kind of felt the need to say something to explain my sort of extended silence. Sorry about that.

In the meantime, the Cubs won their spring training game today. Just barely. They, in typical Cubs fashion, started out really strong and kind of lost it at the end of the game so that they only won by one run. I wonder if it is a pure stamina thing -- do they need to do more cardio before each game? -- or if it is a confidence thing -- do they get too comfortable with the fact that they are ahead so that they just get sloppy? I would tend to think that, particularly when talking about past clubs, it is more of the former than the latter because even when they are losing from the first inning, they lose it even more at the end of the game. So my proposal is that the Cubs do more cardio and/or weight training as a part of their training regimine. Thank you.

I saw The Passion of the Christ last night and it really screwed me up. In the good way, I think. As in, I have a lot to think about and a lot of questions and I gained some better insight into my problems with organized religion in the first place. But yeah, $7.50 for a good mind fuck. Is that a fair price?

I will say this, though. I know a lot of people are afraid that this film will spark another uprising against Jews or something like that. I'm not saying those fears are completely unfounded as Jews have had to go through a lot in the past. But a lot of these people refuse to see the film for that reason. I can understand not wanting to see it because of the violence. It is certainly cringe-worthy. But to speak to the alleged anti-Semeticism in the film, I have to say I don't think there is any. Pretty much everyone in the film is either Jewish or Roman -- that's who lived there back then. And there are Jews in the film who are horrible to Jesus, but there are also a lot of Jews who show him incredible amounts of compassion. There are Romans in the film who are horrible to Jesus. But there are also Romans in the film who show him compassion. And you can't even really break it up by class or gender because there are people in power who are horrible to him, and people in power who are good to him; people not in power who are horrible to him and people not in power who are good to him; men and women who are good to him and men and women who are horrible to him. I think the film paints a really interesting picture of how it was each person's own choice or own experience with Jesus that dictated how each person behaved in his presence.

But then again, each individual viewer's experience with the film will dictate how he or she behaves afterwards. If nothing else, I hope people get from this film what I consider to be probably the most important line (which you may disagree with me about, but most of the film is dramatic shots of various persons either hating Jesus or feeling sorry for him -- there isn't a whole lot of dialogue). In a flashback, you see Jesus standing on a hill preaching to the masses and he is talking about the importance of loving one's fellow man, regardless if he is friend or foe, and he says something like, "You are taught to love only those who love you...where is the reward in that?" That bit made a lot of sense to me. I hope it makes sense to a lot of other people, too.

I hope everyone had a lovely St. Patrick's Day. I will admit that I partook of two Guinnesses, despite the fact that Guinness is not vegan. I do feel moderately guilty about it, but for the most part, I am a very good vegan. I am as careful as I can be. To the extent that I lived on fresh produce, peanut butter, and baguettes in Paris as opposed to eating out and risking eating something I have chosen not to. And for the record, I would not recommend that anyone else live on carrots, apples, red bell peppers, peanut butter, and baguettes for three days. It is rather unsatisfying.

But on St. Patrick's Day, my Irishness outweighs my veganness and I have to have a Guinness or two. My ethnic background is rather a mess, but I know there is Irish in there and I am proud to be Irish. All the time. I like St. Patrick's Day because it is a day to celebrate the heritage that I am so proud of. It does piss me off, however, that St. Patrick's Day seems to have turned into the new Mardi Gras, with people running around wearing beads and silly hats for the entire week surrounding St. Patrick's Day. It is called St. Patrick's Day for a very specific reason. And people who are really Irish will go out and get hammered on March 17th regardless of what day of the week it is. That's what celebrating Irishness is all about.

Or not. But anyway, I hope you all had a nice, green-filled day. Mine was pretty good. In addition to having a couple of Guinnesses, I got a new cell phone. While it is not as pretty and/or fancy as my last one, it does have much better reception than my old one. So that's an improvement. And I went on a sort of non-date. I went into it thinking it might be a date. I went into it thinking that I would be totally intimidated by the guy and spend the evening thinking, "Why on earth is this guy interested in me?" I think he went into it thinking I would be intimidated and feel inferior as well. I didn't. At all. In fact, I stated to feel a little superior in some cases. Maybe it was the look of "Hey, you actually have a brain in there that can keep up with if not challenge mine" on his face that led to that. Or not, I don't know. But we had some good conversation and ended the night with a hug. At this point, I'm not sure if it was a date or not and I'm okay with it either way. I'm not sure that I want another date. I walked away thinking, "I put on lipstick for that?" It was much more like talking to a friend than a possible love interest. Oh well. At least it wasn't an evening spent getting emotinally invested in someone I can't have. That's a step in a positive direction for me.

The phrase "performing sex acts" always cracks me up. I know it's wrong, but it does. I always get a mental picture of...I dunno. Sex acts. But not in the way you probably think of sex acts. I don't think of a guy getting a blow job or two people having intercourse. I think of one person watching another perform a sex act. Like a circus act, but a sex act instead. Like, if someone said to you, "The hookers would go into this alley behind my house and if you looked out the window, you could see them...performing sex acts," you'd probably think of witnessing a blow job or a hand job or something. I see a guy standing by a dumpster while a woman in hot pants and a fur coat does cartwheels and stuff. She's sexy and performing an act.

Yes, I am a mutant. But it means I probably laugh more than you do and laughter has been proven to lower blood pressure and stress level and lead to a longer life. So there. Yay mutants!

I need to buy a step ladder.

If March is supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb, it needs to start shaping up and becoming a lot more lamb like. Because so far, I've only really been seeing the lion part. For example:

I awoke this morning, March 16th, over half-way through the month of March, and looked out my window to see a blanket of snow covering everything. Lambs don't snow. Lions are cold and snowy and blustery. Where's the frickin' lamb warm sunny breezy-ness? Where indeed.

So after the Liz Phair show on Friday night, there was a guy standing by the front door outside and he asked if I had a minute to listen to something. I figured what the hell and took a listen. He was just trying to get exposure for his band. I listened to the track he played me and it was okay. Tight sound. The guy band sound that is popular right now. And by "guy band," I mean "a group of guys who got together and made a band." Very different from the manufactured "boy band," which, if I'm not mistaken, seems to be waning in popularity. In favor of the guy band. Anyway, I digress.

After I had listened to his song, he asked me what I thought and it was hard for me to not tell him. I told him it was a tight sound and a fun song. He asked if I wanted to buy a CD and I told him I spent my last couple of dollars on beer in the show, but if he had a website, I would go check it out. He gave me the web address and I went on my way and he accosted other concert goers.

What I wanted to say to him was, "What makes you different from every other band on the radio right now? Why should I listen to your record as opposed to anyone else's?" Which sounds really harsh, but I can't get over the validity of the question. Do the airwaves need to be saturated with one more untrained tenor voice fronting two guitars, a bass, a drum kit, and a synthesizer for "cool effects?" I'm not saying that they don't, but I think it is valid to ask why they do. Are this band's lyrics deep and meaningful? Okay, then I'll listen. Are this band's lyrics political or moving in some way? Okay, then I'll listen. Are this band's members the most dedicated, motivated musicians ever to pick up instruments? Okay, then I'll listen. But I think you get my point. There are so many bands out there who all do the same thing. If one is going to get anywhere in the music business, one has to have something that nobody else does.

Which got me thinking about my own music. Of course. Like you didn't see that coming a mile away. What do I have that no other musician right now has? Do the airwaves need to be saturated with another untraned alto voice fronting a couple of guitars, a bass and some drums? I'd like to say it is my lyrics. They are honest and simple and somehow, they connect with the listeners. I didn't write them to be that way; it just kind of happened. My friend from Rochester who was in town this weekend told me that she still sings "Allowed" in the shower. I'm not saying that nobody else out there who writes their own music has good lyrics. But I think interesting, intelligent lyrics is what I bring to the table.

I'm so ready to make an album. I'm so ready to go into a studio and play something until it sounds exactly the way I want it to, not just long enough to get a good enough backing track. I'm so ready to bring in a drummer and a bassist and a cellist and a floutist and whoever else to fill out my songs and make them what they have the potential to be. And I am so ready to take that record and sell it to someone. To go on tour with it and promote the shit out of it. To play my songs anywhere and everywhere I can. I've gotten much better about playing in front of people -- I really enjoy it now, even without booze. But I'm so ready for this. Keep your fingers crossed that things will start progressing soon.

What makes my music different from everyone elses? I write honest songs that hit people in a very emotional way and I am prepared to play them for each person in the world individually if that is what it takes to find and reach my audience.

God, am I a cornball or what?

And while I'm on the subject of ranting about silly things in our society, I would just like to point out that one raisin does not a cinnamon raisin bagel make.

The thing that I hate about spam e-mails is that they get you all excited only to disappoint you in the end. "I have six new e-mails!" But then you find out that they are all in reference to drugs you can purchase to enhance bits of anatomy you don't have. Stupid spam e-mails.

I found a picture online today. Albeit an old one, it was still a picture. Yes, I was looking for one; I had forgotten what he looked like. And now I remember. And I remember that no matter how many times I looked up at him, he didn't look any less attractive. I remember feeling safe and vulnerable in his embrace. I remember that every day, but I couldn't put a face to him. He was just a feeling. A feeling I've been looking for and not finding for a very long time. But now the feeling has a face again. A face that even from years ago looks wonderful to me. I know where it is and I know I can look at it whenever I want to and I take comfort in that. Because I like that face. I like the person inside that face.

I wish the person inside that face wasn't so far away.

I have to share one other tidbit with you because it was one of those things where when it happened, I was just like, "oh," but then after I realized what was said, I was almost unspeakably happy. Here's how it all went down:

I went out last night and was talking to a friend of mine who I haven't seen in a long time. I told him about my trip to Europe and stuff and he told me that he studied theater in London for six months and I told him that one of my new goals is to spend a summer on stage at the Globe. He replied, "That's quite a goal." And I agreed. And he said, "But not a pipe dream." At the time, I just agreed and shoved my hands in my pockets. But once that sunk in, I realized that it was a friend of mine believing in me. It wasn't the automatic, "Yeah, like that's going to happen" reaction that I get from so many (wonderful people as they are). It was a, "It's going to be hard work, but it's doable." And that made me happy. So thank you to my friend. You made my night.

I forgot what it is like to make someone fall in love with you on the dance floor. To spend three minutes speaking, playing, connecting with another human being. To watch as that person's initial indifference becomes respect, then admiration, then joy, then curiosity. Because if the two of you connect this well on the dance floor...

I wrote in here a long time ago about lindy hook-ups (second cousins to one night stands). Two people meet on the dance floor, fall in love for a weekend, and go back to their normal lives on Monday. I remember the days when that is what I was looking for -- a partner to spend the weekend with at a dance event who I could get excited about going to visit at some later date. And I realize now how that is exactly what I don't want. Or not even what I don't want, it's not what I'm interested in. Those relationships don't last. They are built on nothing more than a mutual understanding of the music and how one's own body works. Off the dance floor, you still have to deal with all of the same crap that you would have to deal with if you were to find a partner through non-dance-floor means -- is he smart enough? Does he make me laugh? Is he a good kisser? Do we want the same things in life? And I'm telling you from experience, nine times out of ten, the answer to all of those questions is no.

I love falling in love on the dance floor, though. Finding that connection that wasn't there before and sharing something incredible with another human being for three minutes. But when that three minutes is over, it is time to say, "Thank you. Save me another dance later?" and go back to the bar to chat with my same good old friends who I have talked to for years.

I'm kind of amazed by the human body sometimes. Mine in particular. Just at how well it works.

It struck me when I was in Europe how often my traveling companions would remark that they were out of shape. I never once felt "out of shape" while I was there. My shoulder might get tired after carrying around my backpack and guitar for several hours, but I didn't feel "out of shape." Granted, I am also younger than either of my traveling companions, but only by a couple of years -- nothing significant enough to make a notable difference. And while I do try to get exercise as often as I can, I am by no means an athlete. I walk around. I dance sometimes. I do workout tapes in my living room when I can get myself motivated to do so. And then it occurred to me -- both of my traveling companions put things into their bodies to keep their bodies going. Most notably caffeine. I'm not talking food here, because food is necessary for any body to survive, even non-human ones. I'm talking about artificial substances. People who have to have coffee in the morning before they are functional. People who need a soda come 3pm.

I'm not trying to sound all self-righteous and stuff here, because I used to be addicted to caffeine, too. Caffeine and sugar. Still sugar to some extent, but I'm getting to the point now where I can feel it when I've had nothing but sugar to eat all day -- my body tells me, "Okay, time for some veggies or some protein." And every time that happens, I am amazed at how well my body works. The fact that it knows things like that. And the fact that if I pay attention to those things, my body functions really well.

So here were my friends pumping themselves full of chemicals so they would be able to get through a day, yet they were tired and sore a lot of the time, and here was me just taking care of myself and going through each day with energy and no pain. Interesting. If we take care of our bodies, they function the way they are supposed to. If we introduce foreign substances into our bodies, they function in ways other than they are supposed to.

I'm also not advocating Christian Science, here. There are times when my body doesn't work the way it is supposed to and I have to give it a little nudge to get back on track. But isn't it amazing how the human body has evolved to work so nicely?

Sorry. I'm being a science geek today.

I'm sorry, but low carb foods are just not satisfying. I don't mean naturally occurring low carb foods like vegetables and things; I'm talking about food products manufactured to be low carb versions of our favorite things. Like low carb snack foods.

I was in the grocery store the other day and right next to my beloved Tings on the shelf was a bag labled "Girlfriends Booty." After I stopped laughing, I picked up a bag to have a look. It is a low carb snack food, vegan friendly, made by the same people who make my beloved Tings. I decided to give them a shot. They are made with soy, so there is plenty of protein in them, too. I should have just stuck with my beloved Tings. Yes, Girlfriends Booty is crunchy. That's about all the positive stuff I can say about it. It has very little flavor and the little residue bits that remain in your mouth when you are almost done chewing get kind of pasty. I feel like in order to fully enjoy this snack food, I would have to be saliva-less. Yeah, they are really not satisfying.

I can't wait for this whole low carb craze to end.

I was going to write about this when it happened, but I didn't, so now I'm writing about it after the fact and if it sucks, well, that's why.

I'm on a kind of a kick to improve my physical appearance. Not so much lose weight and start plucking my eyebows or anything like that, but more to stop dressing like a slouch in public. Or at least cut back on dressing like a slouch in public. On on this front, I bought myself the most wonderful pair of trousers in Amsterdam. They are gray (not a huge departure for me there) low rise trousers with a really wide waistband and legs that get wider from the hip on down so by the time they reach the floor, they cover my shoes perfectly. And they are long enough that even when I wear high-heeled boots, they cover my shoes completely. And the fabric is so soft. I love these trousers. The only drawback with these trousers is that they are not lined. Meaning the panty line shows. Pretty badly. With no panty line, they make my butt look great. With a panty line, they make my butt look horrible. I spent probably five minutes in the store checking out my butt to see if I could get away with these trousers. The sales lady even checked out my butt for me in my efforts to see if I could get away with these trousers. And the verdict is that I can, as long as I wear a *gasp* thong.

So I wore these trousers to work on Monday with a *gasp* thong. Yes, that's right, Miss I Want To Be Comfortable At All Times spent an entire day in ass-floss because not only did I go to work on Monday, but I also had class and then drinks with my classmates after class and no time to change clothes in-between. And, as expected, I spent the entire day wanting to pull the underwear out of my butt. But, my ass looked great in those trousers.

Such a sad day when I feel the need to invest in more *gasp* thong underwear.

One of the nicest things about going away is being missed. Everyone wants to have their lack of presence noticed. And mine was. And I thank my friends and co-workers and family for that. It was, in a lot of ways, hard to come home. I'll try not to harp on that for too long. But to come home and be told by my cast that we had a great show because I was back in it and to be welcomed back by my co-workers with huge smiles and to get great hugs from my family and to get to spend quality time with my cat...it's not SO bad to be back in Chicago.

My mom told me that Owen was quiet when she stopped by to visit him. He's been really vocal since I've been back. I think he missed having me to talk to, too. And that makes me feel good.

So wish me luck on my midterm. And wish me luck on my paper. And wish me luck with finding more acting work and with finding someone to produce a full studio release of my album. Because when I'm happy...wait, didn't we determine that I'm boring when I'm happy? Maybe I should rethink this whole "I'm going to do what I want to do with my life" thing. For your sake. You guys make me feel loved and I wouldn't want to bore you to tears for that. I suffer so that you will have fun things to read.

I'm kidding, of course. I'm feeling okay today. In another week or so, I will see my beloved Chicago once again for the beautiful city that it is.

I have to be really distasteful and complain for a minute. And to most of you, this is going to sound like a whiny spoiled brat wishing for things just because she can't have them. But I'm going to complain for a minute anyway.

The thought of going back to work tomorrow is making me physically sick. The thought of spending eight hours in that little office, staring at a computer, when I could be out learning things and experiencing life is...indescribable. I know that there is more to life than wandering around strange cities looking for new things. I know that one has to make money in one way or another, one has to keep track of one's responsibilities. I just find myself wishing that my responsibilities were other than what they are. I don't want to be in paralegal school. I don't want to be learning how to help people who are just trying to screw the system. I want to be in school to improve my artistic abilities. I want to be learning other languages. I want to be broadening my mind, not to be becoming part of the system. God, I sound cliche. I'm sorry about that.

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday and he was playing devil's advocate to my complaints just because that is what he does. And he said that the majority of the working actors he knows would rather have jobs and act on the side than be working actors because they don't like the roles they are getting and they basically had to sell their souls and artistic integrity in order to get to where they are. He was trying to tell me that I have it good because I have a salaried position with vacation leave and whatnot and am able to do shows on the side. Thing is, when I took this job, I took it to pass the time until "my real life began." But as the time goes flying by, I find myself getting way more ensconced in this job than I ever intended to be and I start wondering if my real life will ever begin, or if I will always have to put it on hold in favor of my responsibilities. I realize that I am being overdramatic, but it is my belief in the fact that my real life will begin at some point that keeps me going and I'm afraid that the day may come when I have to give up that belief and be realistic. Maybe being overdramatic is yet another way of me trying to prove to myself that I'm not realistic yet. I still apologize for it, though. I'm sorry for whining and complaining and seemingly disregarding all of the wonderful things that I have in this temporary life of mine. I am thankful for my family and my friends and the fact that my entire cast missed me so much while I was gone and was so happy to have me back and my home and the fact that I have a job that likes me enough that I was able to take an absolutely amazing trip to Europe for two and a half weeks. I know that I am lucky in so many ways. I just get restless sometimes.

Thanks for reading.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

*sigh*

This one was originally written on Tuesday, March 2, 2004 in Munich.

So I've developed a new talent, though I don't know how proud of it I should be or how much I should run around publicizing it. I can find the seedy area of any city in six seconds flat. I'm in Munich with about three hours to kill and seeing as there really isn't anywhere to sit in the Munich train station, I stash my luggage in a locker and decide to go walkabout. For an hour. Two, tops. So I set out into the snow because yes, it is snowing in Munich and I walk approximately a block and a half before I find a sex shop. I guess it makes sense -- were I a horny businessman with a three hour layover in Munich, I might want to spend that three hours looking at naked women, too. But I'm not, so I don't. Silly me, I'm pricing internet cafes. I'm addicted, I'll admit it. I like being in touch with my family and friends when I am thousands of miles away and the signs don't make any sense at first. I must have stood outside the Thai restaurant for ten minutes before some poor employee took pity on me and came outside to help. All I had really been able to decipher was that "reis" is rice and "Thai-rot-curry" must be red curry. Thank god the guy spoke English. Now I'm having some okay Thai food (vegan) in Munich. It only sounds weird when you say it out loud. And it only looks weird when you see the look of gratitude on my face when I hear someone speaking English. I call it the, "Hi, I'm a dumb American" expression. Will the people who see the "Hi, I'm a dumb American" expression recognize me when I'm famous? Because the thing about speaking another language is that you think in that language. Germans and French aren't thinking "Thank you" and the translating. Yes, they are thinking the sentiment, but that sentiment is expressed as "Danke" or "Merci" automatically -- there is no moment of translation. And the same way a virtual hurricane of words is swirling around in my head, they are experiencing the same exact thing with a completely different set of words. And my words sound just as strange to them as theirs do to me. I wish I could hear myself as they do, talking a bluestreak of jibberish.

But I like Munich. The three blocks of it I have seen. It has a good energy. Or maybe it is the snow, making everything peaceful as snow has a tendency to do. Either way, I should come back here someday.

Things That I Like About Europe
a partial list

I like the Euro. No, they are not particularly pretty (as Moby so aptly pointed out, old stone bridges are not sexy), but I like the one and two Euro coins. There is something nice about paying for things with coins. I can't explain it any better than to say I'm a dork.

I like it that it is not automatically expected that once you step on an escalator, you will proceed to walk to the other end of it. In fact, I like it that most people here just plain ride the escalators. They walk fast, sure, but they will take a brief pause in their journey to ride an escalator. There is something pleasant about that.

I like it that no matter the weather, people will be outside walking around and riding bicycles.

I like it that everything is so close by, rendering automobiles almost completely unnecessary.

I like it that the public transportation systems are clean and have a bazillion maps everywhere to make sure you know where you're going and what the streets are going to look like when you get there.

I like it that you can say thank you to someone in one language and they will say you're welcome in another.

I like it that the little mom and pop type specialty stores have not all been put out of business by megastores. There is a store in Paris that sells mustards. A few related things as well, but it is a mustard store. And people go there with the specific intention of buying mustard. They go elsewhere to get the hot dogs and a third place to get the buns. Sure, it seems cumbersome, but when you realize that all three stores are within a half a block of one another, the quaintness wins out and you start to dig the idea of a store that just sells mustard.

I like it that the tea I have been drinking most of the time has been in loose form.

I'm sure there are more things I should be putting on this list, but they're not coming to mind right now. I have really enjoyed my time in Europe. I will be sad to go home tomorrow, as much as I want to see Owen. And as much as I'm starting to feel like it's time to get back to being "productive." I will miss the energy here. I will miss the little quirky things. And I hope I don't forget how to see the little things all around me for the first time every time I see them.

Originally written on Tuesday, March 2, 2004 while on the train between Paris and Munich.

Man, it feels good to be out of Paris. I can’t even tell you what it was about Paris that I didn’t really like, but it wasn’t my city. I met a couple of really nice people when I went out dancing on Sunday night and I thank them for talking to me and dancing with me. But for the most part, I felt like everyone was looking at me like I’m a dirty American. Which was probably all in my head, but still, that’s not a very fun way to spend three days, afraid to speak your own language because it will give you away as an uncultured snob.

I would like to put in here that I did not encounter anyone who was outwardly rude to me. And when I tried to speak French to them, they were patient with me and when I ran into someone who didn’t speak English, they would usually point me in the direction of someone who did. I don’t have anything against Parisians. I don’t have anything against Paris. It just wasn’t for me.

So now I’m on a train to Munich. I’m sure for most of the people on this train, Munich is the destination and they are all sitting here, looking for ways to pass the time until they get there. For me, I’m loving looking out the windows, watching the landscape scroll by. I decided to take full advantage of my first class Eurail pass and ride first class and it is nice up here. There is a place for me to plug in my laptop so I can listen to music the whole time without worry. The cabin I am in is climate controlled, so I can make it as warm in here as I want. And since the train isn’t that full (at least not up here), I have this whole six-seat cabin to myself. Which means I probably won’t meet any new, interesting, fascinating people while I am on this train, but I kind of like this. I could even pull out my guitar and play for a while if I want. And I don’t have to use my headphones to listen to music. Yeah, other people might join me in this cabin at one of the stops along the way, but for now, I can rest, relax, and recollect myself. Get the Paris out of my system.

Apparently a lot of people move to Europe, are unhappy here, and move back within a year, if that, and they see it as a failure that they couldn’t make it in Europe. They feel unsophisticated or uncultured or something. And had I not had a long discussion with my friend outside Amsterdam about this very topic, I might be inclined to feel the same way about my fantastic failure in Paris. But in all truth, it wasn’t a failure. I didn’t fail. The same way I know I would be unhappy living in Los Angeles or Omaha, I know I would be unhappy living in Paris. The energy just wasn’t for me. Doesn’t mean I don’t like Europe – I quite enjoyed London and ‘s-Hertogenbosch. I’m interested to see what the energy is going to be like in the German cities I’m passing through. I won’t get to really know any of these cities since I’m not staying long (perhaps just long enough to play “Hamburg” in Hamburg), I think I’ll at least get to feel enough of them to know whether or not I want to go back. With someone.

I’m annoyed that my German friend finked out on me. It’s irritating to be invited to someone’s house and then have them not be there. I don’t think I’m asking too much here or being overly sensitive. When I invite someone to come stay with me, I either make sure I will be there or that they have a set of keys so they can come and go as they please. But maybe that’s just me.

I am a little bit curious now to go to Toulouse and dance. I’ve heard wonderful things about the dancing there, and from what I saw of the Toulouse dancers in London, I think I could have fun there.

Maybe that’s why I’m so tired and ready to go home – I already figured out that my life isn’t really worth living if I can’t share it with someone. I did the month in Australia by myself thing. And here I am alone in Europe. But I will get to share at least some of my adventures with my family and friends through pictures and stories and whatnot. So that’s a good thing. But I was fantasizing last night as I was trying to fall asleep that Owen was crawling around on the bed with me. I can’t wait to see him. Admittedly, I can't wait to show people my pictures and tell them my stories. Though I don’t know how many real stories I have to tell. At least not very interesting ones.

I'm going to be posting a couple of tidbits out of order here. This one was originally written on Saturday, February 28, 2004, while I was on the train to Paris.

It’s not really all that different. It is very easy to get caught up in the whole “I’m in a foreign country where everything is different” thing, but it’s really not true. Yes, there are differences between different countries. But just about everywhere you go, you will find people getting a coffee on their way to work. You will find children playing, making snowmen, kicking a ball around. You will find people dressing in such a way as to make themselves attractive to potential partners. You will find people listening to music and making art. So yes, I just spent three days in Holland, not speaking a lick of Dutch, but it’s really not all that hard to figure out. Wherever you go, there will be signs to point you in the correct direction. Hand signals always work. Smiles are always appreciated.

I’m on a train from Amsterdam to Paris. It sounds so exotic, but in all truth, if I didn’t feel so darn relaxed, I could be taking a train to Wisconsin. There are trees and snow and train tracks and power lines and cities and towns. The only real difference is that the graffiti is in another language, and the announcements on the train are first in Dutch, then French, then English. All of the passengers still have their stuff that they hope nobody takes away from them. There are still buildings with smoke stacks and churches and schools and parks. There are still people walking down the street holding the hands of their loved ones. One thing that I really liked in Amsterdam was a small memorial on one of the canals dedicated to everyone who has been persecuted for his or her sexual preferences. I didn’t get a picture of it – it was just a little triangular outcropping into the water, like a mini pier that a lot of people had put flowers on, but I thought it was really nice.

I’m really loving being in Europe. The people are friendly and accommodating. And the little oddities that let me know I’m not in the land of my birth are cute and fun and totally things that I could live with. Like stores closing at 5 or 6 pm. You just learn to work around those things.

I think the next step for me, though, would be to figure out a way to work here temporarily because visiting a place on vacation and actually living there are two totally different things. But the outdoor market in ‘s-Hertogenbosch was great – when was the last time you had farm fresh carrots? Yeah, me too. And the Fuji apples…amazing. The food everywhere has been wonderful. And if I have to make due with Kleenex for a day because I have run out of toilet paper, so be it, you know? I do that at home sometimes anyway, just because I’m too lazy to go to the store.

I just really like it here. Colin Hay’s “Waiting for My Real Life to Begin” has been running through my head almost non-stop since I got here. Almost like I’m headed in the right direction for that to happen. I know it’s still a long way off and I’m still waiting for it, though not completely passively.

Paris observations:

Parisian soy milk is VERY sweet.

Parisian men think I'm hot.

Despite these two things, Paris is not my city. I'm ready to leave here.

I do think it is kind of funny, though, to think about Napoleon living in the Palace du Louvre, mostly because he was so small and angry and it is so big and beautiful. Honestly, if you get the chance to go to Paris for a day, take it and spend that day at the Louvre. Even if you're not all that big on art, go for the architecture inside the palace. I think I spent as much time in there looking at the ceilings as I did looking at the artwork.

But yeah, I'm getting tired and ready to go home. Tomorrow and the next day, I will spend approximately 29 hours on trains "seeing" Germany. I put seeing in quotes because I'm not really sstopping to spend time anywhere -- I'm just taking trains all over the place. Don't want to waste my Eurail pass, after all. And then back to my friend's place outside Amsterdam to relax for a day before I go home. It will be good to see Owen again. It will be good to hug my family and friends. It will be fun to do Floss!. I've had a wonderful little sojourn to the green world and I'm ready to go home now.

I wrote this this afternoon in the Louvre.

I'm in the Louvre right now and I've just seen the Mona Lisa. And on my way to visit her, I started having all kinds of revelations about art and my opinions of art and what art means to me. Because yes, I can walk along these halls and see the Raphaels and the Michaelangelos and whatnot, and I can appreciate how art changed over the years -- the color pallettes, the subject matter (Christ is the most depicted figure in history, I will bet my shoes on it), the shift towards more realistic work and then away again. And I can say that I like Italian sculpture. But so little of this art truly moves me. Largely because back then, I don't think it was allowed to. Paintings were done for a reason to serve a purpose, not because the artist had something to say. Which is maybe what is so wonderful about the Mona Lisa -- the fact that she has an expression on her face. She's tucked away at the end of a long hallway full of Italian depictions of various religious persons, and she's really not all that big or impressive, yet thousands of people pay millions of dollars to see her and take her picture. And she just sits there, smiling at all of them. I walked in the room and said hello to her. She smiled at me and said, "Aren't they all funny?" I said, "Yeah," and took her picture. "It's okay," she said. "I know you get it." "Thanks," I replied. "See ya later." And I went back down the long hallway full of Italian paintings of various religious persons feeling kind of smug. Because how many people actually get to chat with the Mona Lisa?

Paris now. And so far, I'm not in love with it. Maybe it is because of where I'm staying, maybe it is because I still feel a little strange about the fact that my travel companions have all gone home, maybe it is because thse French keyboards are really strange, maybe it is because the club I tried to go to last night was closed, or maybe it is because on my way home last night, I found the Paris "red light district" completely accidentally. But thus far, I am feeling like Paris is like the icky parts of New York, but without the warmth and good energy that New York has.

But I'm off now to see some art and pretend I'm all pretentious and stuff. Maybe once I get down into different areas of the city, I will feel better about it. In the meantime, I apologize for the short entry, but really, these keyboards are screwy.

You know, you hear the stories about the red light district in Amsterdam and you can't quite believe they are true. So you go to Amsterdam and find yourself wandering around and you see a couple of red lights down one little street, so you decide to walk past and see if the stories are true. And you find that they are. And you are mortified. Not because prostitution is legal. Not because you've never seen anything racy before. Because here is a woman selling herself in a window, like a slab of meat or a Smart Car (which I want very badly, may I add -- the Smart Car, not the woman selling herself in the window). And you think to yourself, yes, this is a sufficient way to make a living, but how sad is it that this woman has chosen this as her profession. Even if she is really good at it, she stands in a window all day until some guy decides that he wants to fuck her. All the men who walk past (and half of the women, probably) without looking twice are rejecting her. What does that do to her ego? Or does one have to abandon one's ego in order to go into that particular line of work in the first place?

I don't mean to judge, and I don't think I am. I don't think any more or less of these women for what they do for a living. And it is entirely possible that they think the same of me -- an actor sending out headshots, not getting responses, every missed audition is a rejection based solely on my physical appearance -- so I'm really not in a position to judge. Maybe it's more of a "I know how hard it is" kind of thing, but I don't really, because I've never been a prostitute. I can always hide behind the "there just wasn't a part in this play for me" excuse. What does she have?

If you happen to find yourself in Holland, looking for a place to eat, might I recommend dropping by 's-Hertogenbosch (Den Bosch) and dining at Taste. Actually, no. I will not recommend dropping by. I will ask that each and every one of you go out of your way to go to Taste and have a meal. This is some of the best food you will ever eat in your life. My friend knows the owner (well enough that we were the last people to leave and we got to have a drink with Amy (the chef) and Matti (the owner) after the place was actually closed) and told them in advance that a vegan was coming for dinner. There was bread with an amazing pesto. There was a tomato, bell pepper soup that was a meal in and of itself. There was a portobello mushroom with potatoes and eggplant. Eggplant is a tricky vegetable and it is hard to get it right. I can guarantee you that people who have hated eggplant in the past would have loved this eggplant. I have no idea what Amy did to it (she does all of the cooking herself in this tiny kitchen), but this was the most amazing eggplant I have ever eaten. I found myself sitting there thinking, "This is just a mushroom, eggplant, and potatoes," but I am going to be fantasizing about this meal for the next month. I can't even tell you how amazing the food was, and to have the chef prepare something especially for me...I am so happy right now. My ominvorous friends had filet minion and seared ahi tuna and lamb and all this food that was giving them orgasms at the table, it was so good. So regardless of your dietary needs (though if you are vegan, you may have to have a special "in"), please go to Taste in 's-Hertogenbosch. Reasonably priced, amazing food, lovely little restaurant. And I can guarantee that you will not regret your time there. You'll just have to take my word on that.

One other thing that I really enjoy about Holland -- the mechanism for flushing the toilets. Yes, I am that big of a dork that I notice these things, but to me, it is pretty cool. I don't know if I have talked about my problems with toilets before, but when I first moved into my own place, my big thing was that I wanted a toilet that worked. I have lived in so many places where you have to jiggle the handle or hold it down for so long in order to get the darn thing to flush, that all I really wanted out of my own place was a toilet that flushed properly every time. Well, in England, I had no such luck. Even in public toilets in England, even in the greatest toilet known to man (or woman in this case as it was a ladies' loo), otherwise known as the ladies' room at the Knight's Templar in London (it used to be a bank vault, but know it looks like Greco-Roman baths or something; it's really spectacular), I kept running into toilets with problems flushing.

So now that I am in Holland, I have to remark about the wonderful flushing mechanisms. When I first saw them, I thought they were those dispensers that you will see in public restrooms from which you can get toilet seat covers. Groovily enough, this is not the case. The flushing mechanisms on the toilets here are large metal buttons on the wall that you just push once and there you go. So simple. So convenient. No handle jiggling or holding down for a certain amount of time. Just a perfect flush time after time after time. Plus, it's really fun to push a large metal button on the wall in order to make the toilet flush.

That's it. Kudos to the Dutch plumbers on a job well done. You can all go back to your normal lives now.

If I could figure out a way to stay here...

We're in Den Bosch now, staying with a friend. I thought London was quaint, but this is so much moreso. We now have access to a shower, an honest to goodness shower! And yes, it is snowing, but I'm all kinds of happy. I had all kinds of things I wanted to write about, but they have all left my mind at the moment, as we are trying to make dinner/drinking plans for the evening. I will have lovely stories to tell when I get back to the States. And millions of fantastic memories for the rest of my life. It feels like I have been away forever, even though it hasn't even been a week yet. And it feels like I am going home tomorrow, even though I have a week to go yet.

It is going to be so hard to go back to work and my normal life...

Day three in London. I can't believe it's only the third day that I've been here. No, I don't know my way around yet (at least not as well as I do in Chicago), but I'm comfortable here. My body is on the right time schedule (though a few more hours of sleep somewhere wouldn't hurt me), certain things are starting to look familiar...I could be very happy here for a very long time. Except I would have to do something about the showering situation -- neither of my hosts has had a working shower, so we've had to take baths. Which isn't terrible, but it is a smidge more time consuming and I can't quite tell if I've rinsed all of the conditioner out of my hair.

But yeah, I like London. I wish it was warmer.

We walked around a lot this morning (guided walking tour as part of the exchange) and we saw the Tower of London and the Globe Theater and the Tate Museum and a whole bunch of other stuff, but those three were my favorites and I'll tell you why.

The Tower of London has a really funky energy about it. You can feel the history that is still very much alive in there. We didn't actually go in it, we just sort of walked around it and heard the story about the ravens and whatnot, but I very much would like to go back and actually go inside. Apparently, they have an exhibit of the torture devices that were used on people way back in the day. Call me sadistic, but that stuff is interesting to me. Much moreso than, say, a maritime museum.

The Globe Theater. I know it's not the real one, and that's fine. But it's Shakespeare's theater. It felt good to just be near it. I think one of my acting goals now is to spend a summer in London in a show at the Globe. Guess I should brush up on my Shakespearean monologues, and fit them with a British accent.

The Tate museum has this installation in it right now that is all just smoke and mirrors and a giant light, but it is fascinating. The mirrors are on the ceiling, so the hall looks twice as tall as it actually is. And the light at one end looks like, well, something out of a Terry Gilliam film. Cool, yet creepy. Everyone was in sepia tones everywhere. And at the far end of the hall, people are lying down on the floor so they can see themselves in the ceiling, making patterns and whatnot. Of course, as a group of lindy hoppers, we had to spell out "Lindy." I got a picture of it. Pretty cool.

So yeah. I dig it here. I feel the need to put on a British accent, but I'm afraid my friends will laugh at me, so I don't.

Oh, and for the sake of those of you who read this blog and mitten's blog, I have to mention our ride home from the dance last night. Picture this: two door hatchback car. Insert into said car three large suitcases, three large backpacks, one large dance bag, one normal sized guitar, and four full sized adults. Then make car drive for forty-five minutes in the middle of the night through the streets of London. Yeah, I was in the backseat and at one point, my left leg had fallen so far asleep that it hurt. We promised the girl in the front that she will feel guilty about riding shotgun that trip for the rest of her life. Not that we'll follow through, but at least it kept us laughing.

Anyway, I should run before my time here expires. I'll update again soon.

I really love London.

Hello.

Just a couple of quick notes from London.

1. I love it here. It feels very comfortable and homey to me. I could be very happy living here.

2. British currency is much more interesting than American currency.

3. British taxis rule.

4. Number one drawback to London = all of the pubs close at midnight.

But else than that, I'm having a lovely time. My host last night was wonderful, the dancing is great and the national cuisine, since it officially became Indian, has taken a decided turn for the better as far as British cuisine is concerned. From what I've heard. The food we had last night...so good! But it is easy to get around here and the people are friendly enough and so on and so forth. I had a few pithy comments to make earlier, but I have currently forgotten what it was I was going to say, so I'll stop for the moment. Wish me luck finding a place to log on wireless to the web!

I know everybody says, "Don't buy anything here -- wait until you get to Europe to do it," but I couldn't help it. I like having things planned out. I booked a hostel for my stay in Paris. I got a train ticket. I haven't bought anything for my ride back to London yet -- I can do that when I'm there. But I like knowing that I will have somewhere to stay and a way to get there. Plus, this will make sure that I go.

I can't believe that in just over 24 hours, I will be getting on a plane to go to England. And then I'll go to Amsterdam. And then I'll go to Paris. And then I'll go to Hamburg. And I will be spending half of that time traveling alone. I'm scared out of my mind, but in that same way I was before I went to Australia. I know I am going to have an amazing time and I know I'll be fine, no matter what happens. It's just kind of daunting, you know? To know that you will be in a country where you don't speak the language for three days without so much as a friend to dine with or to say, "Wait a minute, are we on the right subway train?" I know I'll be fine. I know that financially, I'll be fine, too. Whatever I don't bring with me, I'll get there. It's just...daunting.

Travel really is simple. All you need is time and money. And for once, I have both. Wish me luck!

So perhaps I sang the praises of Western Medicine too soon. I was under the impression that the medications I was given would dry out my sinuses and moisturize my throat (seeing as my sinuses were overproductive and my throat overdry). It seems that they have, in fact, done the opposite -- dried out my throat and moisturized my sinuses. Seriously, my nose isn't that big -- how can it produce this much phlegm? I'm blowing my nose so much, it's starting to bleed. And last night, I was up half the night coughing so hard, I think I broke my throat and perhaps some blood vessels in my forehead.

Here's hoping the European air does me some good.