Well, some strange things have been happening in the online journalling world. I’m still so new to it, that I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. Moreso, I’m unhappy for several people who’s sites I read regularly. Though I’ve met none of them face to face, it’s still upsetting to read about the unhappiness and problems that they’re dealing with now. Especially since these people aren’t the type who’s journals are regularly filled with angst and misery. They’re young, intelligent, well-spoken, and their journals are entertaining to read. Even when I’m having a crappy day, a quick visit can make me laugh and smile. Usually.

I think I may be sounding rather selfish. Please let me say that I’m not upset with these people for their recent writings or self-imposed breaks. It’s just that reading another person’s online journal is a mildly vicarious experience. And since I’ve grown somewhat fond of these people, their pain saddens me. But I fully respect their desires to write or not write about their problems. And I can totally understand not wanting to be bombarded by intrusive email and unwanted personal advice.

I really really just want everything to work itself out and for everyone to be happy. (That’s a nice blanket statement, so you can take it as applying to you too, whoever you are.)

On a different tack but still under the subject of online journals, I don’t get all the recent hubub about what defines an online journal, whether they constitute legitimate literary endeavors, and whether there should be awards for them. But apparently these are hot button issues that surface periodically.

I spent a lot of time reading the most recent debates on Beth’s forum (one and http://www.greenspun.com/bboard/q-and-a-fetch-msg.tcl?msg_id=002dWX), and I still don’t understand why there’s so much controversy. I read sites because I like them. I don’t care how the writer refers to his/her “periodic online serials.” Journal, writing practice, daily message to the masses… I don’t think what it’s called is nearly as important as the content.

I don’t choose to read a book over a magazine because one is inherently better than the other. I look for the pretty covers.

OK, that was a lame attempt at humor, but I don’t want this whole entry to be morose. So, if you care, take a look at my new links page to find out just what I like to read.

And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

I love my cats. Really, I do. But I’ve decided they need to start pulling their weight around here. ‘Cause the free ride’s over and there isn’t much of a return on the investment in cat food, vet bills, peed-on laundry, and shredded flesh. (Well, there’s the love and cuddling but you can’t take that to the bank!)

You might be wondering what the heck a spoiled housecat could do to earn its keep. I did too. Christine mentions some ideas on her site, but we don’t have a garden, and I suspect that Spritel and Pumpkin would be able to eat every bit of food we’d put before them, then barf it up all over the apartment or re-enact Montezuma’s Revenge in the litter box. Either result would just mean more work for me.

The other day, it hit me. I could harvest their fur! Why not? There’s way more of it covering my clothes and furniture than there is on the three of them. I came to this conclusion the day I picked up my black winter jacket from a chair and found it literally coated in cat hair. Two of the kitties are mostly white, so even at a distance of only a few feet, my poor jacket looked grey in color.

By carefully collecting the cat hair, I could then either soak and bond it to turn it into a kind of felt or carefully spin it into cat-wool which could then be woven into a warm fuzzy cloth with a nice Calico pattern. I’m already wearing their hair, why not wear it fashionably?

Hey, if you can do it with rabbits, why not with cats?

I can think of a number of ways of collecting the cat hair. Use non-sticky lint rollers and scrape off the hair. Throw cat-hair covered clothes into the dryer and scoop it out of the lint trap. Heck, just petting one of the cats can stir up clouds of loose hair. I can even start using that cat brush I bought a year ago to free up and hold onto the hair.

By using either of the last two methods, I could even harvest hair individually from the kitties. (Once the money starts rolling in, I’ll hire people to follow the cats around to collect their hair right as it’s shed.) Spritel and Maggie would give up mostly white Calico hair. Pumpkin, who’s hair is actually silkier than the others, would produce a beautiful warm orange Tabby design.

I can see it now. I’ll be rich!! Cat-wool garments will be all the rage. Soft, warm, and pettable.

So, do you think it would work, or have I just not been getting enough sleep lately?

…that make me cry.

Two days ago was the first of the BIG bi-annual company meetings. I know those are just supposed to be propaganda to make you feel good about where you work, but this time it worked on me.

We saw a newsclip about how some of our products are being used by scientists who’re trying to overcome paralysis even if it can’t actually be “cured.” We saw people paralyzed from the waist down who are able to stand and even to walk (with great difficulty) thanks to electronic implants and an external control. The final part of this segment involved taking this research to a new level. Through a special cap that could read the electronic signals of a subject’s thoughts and transmit them to a computer which processed the signal and sent it back out to the system implanted in the subject’s body, this man — who had been paralyzed from the chest down for 23 years — was able to open and close his had just by thinking about it. Even more, we watched him write, “Welcome to the future!” in a slow, childish scrawl.

I started to cry. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have had to wait 23 years to move my own fingers.

The reason this was relevant to an employee meeting is that it was our products that were running on the computer that was taking this man’s thoughts and turning them into actions. I felt a great deal of pride and joy that the place where I work is making such a difference in people’s lives. That may be silly, since I’m just a web developer who has nothing to do with the technology or manufacturing of those products, but it’s how I felt.

…that make me happy.

Often on Fridays, a couple of people from my group make a beer run. The end of the week is celebrated with a few drinks and some good socializing. I don’t usually drink, but the talking is great. However today, Leesa (another non-drinker) and I instigated the beer run. We collected the funds, took off, and returned with the requested Shiners, plus a 4-pack of Kahlua Mudslides. This is here because I really enjoyed just taking off for a few minutes on a beautiful Friday afternoon, and getting to chat with Leesa as we did so.

A few nights ago we had a big rain storm. I opened up the back door, just leaving the screen closed so we could listen to the rain. I love thunderstorms, and they’re not very common in central Texas. I grabbed my camera and went out to take pictures, amazed at how quickly the rain collects. The area behind our patio was 2-3 inches under water in 8 minutes. Of course, the storm passed quickly, and all the water was gone within a couple of hours.

…that drive me crazy.

I can’t seem to get anything done lately (at home). I’ve been meaning to clean the whole apartment, do (and put away) all the laundry, and update my websites. I’m great about getting started, but something usually comes along to distract me. Next thing I know, I have a half-redone website, a clean living room but a filthy kitchen, and a laundry basket of clean clothes that gets peed on by the cat because the litter box hasn’t been emptied in a week.

…that make me love Dale.

Yesterday morning, I was in the bathroom getting for work, Dale reached around me to get his cologne. Shortly afterwards, I felt a cool mist hit my less-than-dressed bottom. I said, “You got cologne on my butt.” I turned around to see him holding the bottle so that the nozzle was pointed towards me, and not him. “I know,” he responded. For hours, all I could smell was “Obsession.”

That night at dinner with Aaron, I told that little story. As Aaron laughed Dale said, “I was just marking my territory.”

At least he didn’t pee on me.

OK, I have a pretty good reason for not updating yesterday. I was too busy watching Xena.

Oh, come on. You know she rocks. I love that show. (Can’t stand Gabrielle, but that’s a rant for another day. Damn goody two-shoes.)

Apparently Tuesday nights are now Xena nights on the SciFi channel. Coooool. I just wish they’d play them in order, instead of jumping around like the episodes did last night.

After my four hours of Xena, I decided to quickly check my email. Yeah, right. I won’t get into how late I stayed up, but it was pathetic. (And then, I still couldn’t fall asleep.) Anyway, I decided to start redoing the new house pages. The “What’s happened lately” section hadn’t been updated in months. (Mainly because NOTHING had happened in months. But, I’ve already written about that.) There was also a distinct lack of design and navigation. Mainly because that section of my site consisted of only two pages and was just meant to be an update site for our friends and family. But, I decided to make it a more serius project, which meant some serious work.

Oh, by the way, if you go by those pages now, you’ll find the section a mess. The new design has only been halfway implemented because I got too damn tired to finish it last night. But, it is viewable. Just not necessarily pretty. I think I may have to redo some of the graphics. I check out the front page from work, and the sidebar link graphics were too hard to read against the background.

I suppose this redesign (actually, it’s the first design) was inspired by the fact that work has finally begun on our house!

(Oh, did I ever mention that Dale and I decided to stay with our current builder. Ah… yeah, we did.)

Two weeks ago (and the weekend after we had threatened to cancel our contract) we went by the lot and saw they’d put down 4 stakes marking the corners of our home-to-be. Amazing how much that made me happy. Last weekend, we went by late Saturday night and discovered they’ve cleared the lot and put up the

hold on, spritel’s trying to eat my hair….

Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, they’ve put up the rough forms for our foundation! Yay! Cheer for us, dammit! Since the visit was a spur of the moment decison on our way home from dinner with Adam and his lovely girlfriend, Leslie, we didn’t have the camera. Being after 11:00 at night wasn’t an issue because there’s a massively bright temporary street lamp directly across from our lot that provided more than enough light to wander around.

We did go back on Sunday, with the camera. Unfortunately, I can’t pull the pictures of the site (or the ones of the cats being so damn cute) because the Win2k patch for my digital camera software isn’t available yet. *grumble* For the record, my webcam and zip drive don’t work either. We haven’t even tried to hook up the scanner. And my 3.5″ floppy drive doesn’t work, but I don’t think that’s related to Win2k.

So, pictures will have to wait until a) I get the patch, or b) I resort to installing the software on Dale’s computer or c) on my computer at work. I’ll likely go with Option B, since our home computers are networked. I’m just not going to touch Dale’s machine while he’s not around.

Oh, and for the record, I didn’t play Demise at all last night. Yeah, I know, hard to believe.

Hey folks, sorry it’s been so long since I’ve updated. But, most of my online time (non-work!) has been spent playing Demise. Or at least, trying to. Dale and I have downloaded the demo version. It seems to run fine on his machine, but on my new Pentium III 500 MHz running Windows 2000, the program doesn’t like my video card. Any video card. We’ve tried two different ones already.

I’d be happily traipsing about in the dungeon, looking for snooks to kill, and the graphics would just fritz. Instead of the nice 3D graphics and groovy textures, I’d see white blocks against a background of white. Unfortunately, there isn’t a simple way to refresh, so I’d have to completely quit out of the game, reconnect to the server, and rejoin. Thank goodness for the real-time saves. Dale and I found a semi-workaround for this. Instead of playing in full-screen mode, I can launch Windows mode. Then, when the graphics go thhhhhhhpt! I can just ALT+Enter to maximize the window. Wait a few seconds, ALT+Enter to unmaximize, and then continue on my not-so-merry way. (Yes, I have to unmaximize instead of playing in that mode, because then instead of just losing graphics, the whole game would crash.)

I could almost deal with that problem if it wasn’t for this other annoying bug…. While you’re in the dungeons, you have a small window in the middle-bottom of your screen. This acts as an automapper, showing your current location and mapping the rooms you’ve visited. You can double-click on this to open the map in the main window to see more of it. In theory (and in Dale’s version), you can double-click the main window to go back to the standard dungeon view/automapper modes. However, on my system, once I’ve opened the large map, the small window doesn’t revert back to the automapper but instead tries to display the entire map in its little 2″x3″ space, meaning the part of the map I can see is rarely the part of the dungeon where I’m currently lost. (Dale has told me Aaron has this same problem, while Rick and Steve don’t. Odd bug.) Again, quitting and restarting the game fixes this until the next time I try to do the map.

My workaround for this has been to avoid viewing the large map until I need to. Then, I use that to negotiate my way through the mazes. If I come to a room I’ve not entered before, I’ll switch to dungeon-view just before entering, go through the door, smack down any pathetic creatures in my way, loot any treasure or chests, then switch back to big-map view to continue traveling.

Dale’s amazed I have the patience to play like that. I surprise myself sometimes. But, a 26th level Artisan/13th level Explorer female Saris has gotta make a living somehow.

(Interesting. I just ran spell-check over this page, and it didn’t like unmaximize but it didn’t question Saris….)

OK, I feel compelled to write about this, but in a seperate entry from the first one for today because the subject matter is so different, and the other entry is already kinda long. (I tend to ramble, in case you hadn’t noticed yet. More rambling, and a lot of complaining, ahead.)

One of my big projects at work has been a redesign of the corporate intranet. There were three of us dedicated to this task. The designer who was heading the project, a programmer analyst, and me (the developer). Almost from the start, this has been an uphill struggle for us.

We were to start with a redesign of the Marketing (which the web team falls under) intranet to show that we could handle the job of redoing the intranet. Apparently, being part of the team that maintains our increasingly-successful external site wasn’t good enough. Still, it was a fresh new project and we weren’t bitter yet…

The designer came up with several designs. I worked with her to get demos on the web. We showed off the designs to various groups and settled on the most popular. For four months this was our primary project. We did testing. Met with focus groups. Demo’d and demo’d and demo’d. Everybody was happy with the way things were moving along. We had a lot of support.

But, another department decided they wanted to purchase the new intranet server. And admin it. We (and the rest of the web team) thought it odd, but for the time being we wouldn’t stir the waters. The new server was supposed to arrive last fall so that we could begin the conversion to the new design on a clean machine. We’d build a new site rather than rework the old one.

An internal conference was nearing. It was decided we should increase our efforts to have the new Marketing intranet ready to demo at this conference. The new server wasn’t even here yet. Another team member had set up a testing server. We decided to use that in the interim. We got the preliminary work done just in time for the conference where we would get to show off during a little “trade show.” Except that we had no internet connection for the first hour of the two hour trade show. Great debut.

About a month after that, the new server arrived. We got good news. Our IS people would admin the new machine along with all the others. But, it had to set up before we could begin using it. I don’t know what’s happened, but the machine arrived in Dec. and we still don’t have access to it.

Also, despite knowing from the beginning that we had a new design, the other department decided to come up with their own design for their pages.

Doesn’t that sort of blow away the goal of unifying the intranet?

In addition to using another design, that department ended up coming to our little group to fix their programming problems. I complained bitterly to the others, my boss, Dale, and Kathie. The audacity! At the start of the new year, our intranet redesign project was put on a backburner. We were all needed for other projects. The other department came to us again for help with their pages. I talked to my boss, and I told them we’d be unable to do so at this time because we had other priorities. I gloated.

Karma kicked me in the ass.

It came down from higher-up that we needed to go ahead and help them. The programmer analyst and I did. That was over a month ago.

Here’s the kicker. The two people in charge of the other department’s efforts appeared at the web team meeting the other morning. They presented me and the p.a. with certificates of appreciation.

Today, one of them stopped by with “the rest of the thank-you.” A $25 gift certificate to Barnes and Noble.

Now I feel like a whiny baby. I know that a lot of our complaints about working with that other department are legitimate, but this took me completely by surprise. I feel like an ungrateful wretch.

Dale would (and probably will tonight) tell me I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t feel guilty for being upset earlier. I’ll try to take his potential advice and enjoy spending that gift certificate!

A brief message to my co-workers:

OK. The flowers are wilting and the balloons are deflating. It’s time to take the damn Valentine’s Day bouquets home.

I know that makes me sound like a bitter lonely non-flower-getting gal, but that’s not what I am. Really. I’m quite happily married, and I don’t need flowers once a year to know it. (Though, admittedly, receiving in this case is better than giving.) However, I don’t want to walk by your cubicles to see sad, wilting displays. Those bouquets were gifts for you. Take them home!

I would. Really. If I’d gotten anything like that, it would have gone home with me the evening of the 14th. It’s mine, dammit. I don’t need to leave it on my desk, showing it off to the rest of the floor. If I wanted the beauty of flowers in my cube, I’d bring in a potted plant. Better yet, I’d get a cutting from Leesa’s Amazing Ivy. (Really, this plant will reach out to you with its multitude of 4-foot vines as you walk past.)

That is, if I wasn’t sure I’d end up killing any poor plant that fell into my hands.

I’ve been thinking a lot about plants and gardening lately. Even though the house won’t be ready until August (knock on wood), I’m already trying to decide what type of plants I want in the yard. Because our lot slopes, we already know we’re going to have 2-3 feet of ugly concrete foundation visible in the front yard. Shrubs are definately going to be required to hide that. Or maybe I can put up lattice and train ivy. But that could take a while. And the ivy might take over anything else I try to plant around there.

As I mentioned the other day, I also want at least one wysteria plant. That will probably be in the back, trained to grow over the gazebo part of the deck that Jill’s going to design for us. (Jill is Dale’s sister and currently studying architecture in UT’s graduate program.)

When Dale and I watched Fist of Legend a few nights ago, I paid more attention to the gardening in one scene than I did to the fighting. “That’s a beautiful Japanese Maple!” Dale agreed an instant before one of the combatants kicked the slender trunk and snapped the tree in half. I mourned the wanton destruction a few moments before getting back into that kung fu groove.

What’s so ironic about all this is that I’ve never in my life been able to keep a plant alive more than a few days. Not that I’ve tried very often. (Fortunately for the plant world.) Even the venus flytrap died quickly. So did the African Violets. (Apparently spraying them with cat pheremones to keep the kitties away was a BAD IDEA. The whole plant turned mushy and brown within a day.) I don’t know what caused the demise of the potted chrysanthemums Dale gave me last Valentine’s day. I kept those here at work (hey, I said POTTED plants were cool to leave at the office), and I think they didn’t like the fluorescent lights. After the first blooms died, the newest buds wouldn’t open. Someone suggested I trim the dead blooms to see if that would help. Nope. For the next three or four months, I had a pot of leafy twigs that eventually died of thirst.

When I was a kid, my sister and I were forced to do yard work. But that mainly consisted of raking leaves in the fall and not leaving our Slip ‘n’ Slide in the same place for more than a day during the summer. There was also the occasional weeding of the vegetable garden. After my Dad moved to Germany and before the rest of us followed, it fell to me and my Mom to mow the huge yard. We were both tiny, and it would literally take us two days to mow, when it would have taken Dad a few hours.

In Germany, we lived in a block of condos. The front yard consisted of a foot-wide trough that ran the length of the front of the house. It was soild covered with pebbles with a few miniature roses planted along it. The back yard was probably 20ft square. There was one big tree, some shrubs, and lots of flowering plants. The amount of open grass could and literally was cut with a pair of ordinary kitchen scissors.

I wasn’t in the New Mexico house long enough to deal with any yardwork there. Aside from removing the occasional tumbleweed.

Slave labor went back into effect in Virginia, though. No, not really. It was just more raking/moving/planting trees. (And, on occasion, digging up a tree we’d already planted because Mom had changed her mind about where she wanted it. Seriously.)

So, even though my parents are both into gardening and house plants, my sister and I just never acquired any of those types of skills and knowledge. Now I’m faced with planning (and maintaining) my own yard, and I have no idea how I’m going to manage it. I actually would like to get into gardening, but I just don’t know where to start. I should probably write Beth and ask her for advice.

A quick question. I’ve noticed I’m getting a few more visitors to these pages. And I know I’m kinda irregular about when I update. Would it be beneficial for me to set up a notify list? Please email me to let me know if you’d be interested. Thanks!!

Also, I welcome email at any time. If I’m amusing at all or you like what you’ve read, please share! If you just want to tell me I suck and I should shut up, I can’t stop you from saying so but I can’t guarantee I’ll oblige.

I’m feeling really restless. I just can’t seem to focus on one task for any amount of time. It looks so pretty outside, I just want to go and play.

I miss being a kid.

From 1980 to 1988, my family lived in a nice house in Harker Heights, Texas. I really miss that house. Those eight years was the longest amount of time I’ve ever spent in one place. Often when I have a dream that takes place “at home,” it’s that house. Similarly, when my sister appears in my dreams, she’s back to being 8 yrs old- a scrawnly little kid with dimples and long brown braids.

We loved that house and the yard. Though the style and decor were heavily-70’s (orange and army green flowers bloomed in the bathrooms), that was a great house. The back formed an L-shape, and a concrete slab patio nestled inside the corner. Large wooden columns were embedded in the cement and supported rails and benches on the open sides of the patio, as well as an open-beamed “roof.” I don’t recall if my mother planted the wysteria at the outside corner or if it was there when we moved in, but by the time we left, the vines had claimed most of the “roof”, filling in the gaps between the planks with green-filtered sunlight. Bunches of purple flowers hung everywhere, scenting the patio and attracting bees.

It really was gorgeous. So was the whole yard. My parents spent most of their free time working in the yard. Clusters of trees were surrounded by natural-rock borders. Ivy covered the once-bare ground in another spot. At almost any time of the year, there were flowers blooming. My mother had tulips in the front yard along with daffodils. That flowerbed always looked like Easter to me.

One of the towering Cedar trees slowly died. My parents let the trunk stay until they feared it might fall and cause damage. Phaedra and I cried when they cut down that tree.

This neighborhood was built back when land was appreciated for itself, and not for the amount of cookie-cutter houses that could be crammed onto a block. You could probably have built four houses on the amount of property between the houses on either side of ours. I think I once counted 13 different species of trees in our yard, though cedars and oaks dominated. (The name of the street we lived on was Cedar Oak Lane.)

Outside the garden window of the living room, my father built a playground for me and my sister. He had railroad ties hauled in which he laid out in a shape like an old-fashioned keyhole. He then had a ton of sand brought in to turn our keyhole into a sandbox. The rounder end of the sandbox encompassed a large oak tree. Two swings were fastened to its branches.

Four trees grew out from the same point (a few feet from the sand box) and leaned out in four different directions. Dad used this little arrangement to support a platform three or four feet off the ground, complete with a little ladder for access.

Once this little kid-paradise was completed, it was no surprise that our house and yard became the most popular place to play in the entire neighborhood.

Even though I was 14 years old (and Phaedra was when we moved to Germany in 1988, both my sister and I were heartbroken. We cried for days. At the time I thought it was my friends that I would miss the most, but now, 12 years later, it’s the house and the yard that occupy my thoughts, and what my childhood there was like.

When Dale and I began searching last fall for our first home, it was a home like the one in Harker Heights that I wanted. Not necessarily the same architecture (I wanted a 2-story), but the same atmosphere. I wanted a yard where my children could play, like the one where I played.

Unfortunately, Austin has turned into a place where property is valued more than land. Dale and I have found a nice place, but it doesn’t have nearly the amount of yard and trees that we’d hoped for. Still, we will make do with what we have. Hopefully, we’ll be able to put in a covered deck and I’ll plant wysteria in the corner. Maybe someday we’ll have trees big enough for our children to climb.

(I think most of the photographs of that house are at my parents’ house in Virginia. I have one old album with me. Hopefully there are some pictures in there I can scan and add later.)

Attention: Due to the computer problems of last week, I’ve lost some email. There’s one in particular I remember reading, but didn’t get to respond before it was lost. The mail was sent by someone who read my entry about seeing Kids in the Hall and was going to be seeing them soon. Whoever you are, I hope that you’ll read this and resend your mail, and not think I’m rude or snotty because I never responded!

Rick and Aaron, bless their hearts, have managed to turn Dale into a kung fu movie fanatic. (I know that these movies encompass a huge range of martial arts disciplines. I used “kung fu” to describe the genre, not necessarily the fighting style.) About a month and a half ago, Dale and I were sitting at our computers when he turned to me and said, “Do you want (some martial arts movie).

Pamela: What’s that? I’ve never even heard of it.
Dale: Oh, it’s a kung fu movie….
Pamela: So, what you’re telling me is that YOU want it.
Dale: ….
Pamela: OK, go ahead and get it.

A short while later I realize that he’d originally gone to Reel.com to order a different movie. I suddenly looked up and said, “How many are you getting?!”

He sheepishly replied, “Four or five….”

*sigh* He says I’m bad about impulse-shopping.

Most of the movies he wanted were special order, so they’ve been slowly trickling into our mailbox. To date, we’ve received (and now watched) Wing Chun, The 13th Warrior (not kung fu, but purchased during the same little spree), Once Upon a Time in China II (what, he couldn’t start with Part I?), and just tonight, Fist of Legend. Apparently, we’re still waiting on one more movie. Probably the one he originally asked me about. I know it’s yet another starring Jet Li.

(OK, I checked the Jet Li site and found the movie title: New Legends of the Shaolin. I’ve seen bits of that one. I’m anxious to see the rest.)

Hm, it may sound like I’m complaining about these movies. I’m not, really. I’ve enjoyed them too. And, just last week, I caught myself watching some biography of Bruce Lee on TV. It really was quite interesting. I never knew he was into ballroom dancing.

My aunt used to tease me about having a crush on Bruce when I was a little girl. Honestly, I don’t remember. Nor can I recall ever seeing any of his movies. I’ll have to change that.

I have been a big fan of Jackie Chan for years now. I find him to be even more amazing than Bruce or Jet. Plus, he puts so much humor into his movies. (Well, the ones from the later years.) And, even though he’s lightning fast, all his moves seem believable. One thing I don’t like about “kung fu” movies is when the stunts start getting really cheesy. You know, the gravity-defying moves that men on the moon would have a hard time pulling.

But, overall, I like what we’ve seen. After all, I picked out the kung fu movies we watched the other night.

I meant to write more tonight, but I’m kind of tired. Plus, today was payday, and I’m sure many of you know what that means- time to pay the bills.

Yuck!

11 pm Addendum: Earlier tonight, I heard Dale laughing. I asked what was so funny. He was reading the lost week entry where I detailed his Saturday night antics. Oh, yeah. So fucking funny.

*grumble*

Note: This entry contains naughty words. The prudish have been warned.

Last night Dale and I took a break from our computers to go check out a porn shop. You know, maybe find a little extra spice for Valentine’s Day.

Stop looking at me like that. As if you haven’t considered doing the same….

So we head to this place that’s one of those warehouses just off the highway, complete with a giant red flashing neon “XXX” sign. Pulling into the parking lot, we passed a sign that said “No Trailers.” I looked at Dale and said, “Truckers, maybe?”

I’m not too familiar with places like these. I’ve been down to the various shops on 6th Street, mainly for the giggle-factor. Dale and I drove around Houston a couple of years ago looking for a place that sold male blow-up dolls because my sister’s souvenir request was “a boy.” We visited like 4-5 places and found ONE that sold male dolls. Clearly, it was a joke item as it lacked orifices and protruberances. Phaedra loved him. She liked to dress him up in different outfits and leave him in various rooms in the house. Damn thing made me scream one night when I walked into the guest room and freaked when I saw him lurking in the shadows.

Back to last night…. I giggled at the “No public restrooms” notice tacked beside the door. Along with the disclaimer: “If human nudity or sexuality offends you, do not enter.” We walked in and discovered this was a no-frills, what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of place. Racks and shelves of magazines, books, and videos. It was really rather overwhelming.

Just inside the door, Dale placed a hand against my back and said, “After you.”

I turned and looked back at him and replied, “What, you think I’ll know my way around any better than you do?”

In order to get out of the way of another customer, I ducked between two rows of magazines and found myself in front of a shelf of “art” books. Actually, there appeared to be some cool stuff there. Photography and art that wasn’t necessarily pornographic. I found a book of Luis Royo art and Dale said I could get it. There was another book I wanted (by Soriyama), but it was like $55.

Book in hand, I wandered over to Dale who stood in front of one of the walls lined with videos. I swear, how can someone pick out something from a display like that? All the covers were so busy and garish, they seemed to bleed into each other. It was remarkably unappealing.

Occasionally, a title would jump out at us, but mostly because it was absurd or funny. Like, “VamBIres” (2 guys and a chick with fake fangs), “Bodacious Bimbos from Barcelona,” “How to Make Love to a Tranny.” Dale lingered, giggling, in front of the Asian porn section which seemed to be dominated (no pun intended) by a line of videos called “Samurai Pussy.”

We found another section of videos that spoofed mainstream products, down to the packaging. “Slide” instead of “Tide.” “Cap’n Cooch” (”Sugar-frosted cum shots”). “Cocoa Muffs.” “Titz.” And my personal favorite, “Sleaze-Its,” “40% more sleaze than other porn.” The video packaging for this line included “Ingredients” lists of the ‘porn’ stars and “Nutritional Information.”

Fat Chicks………….0.0%

Action……………..100%

Hot Chicks………….100%

You get the idea. Anyway, Dale and I thought the packaging on those was hysterical. We picked up “Sleaze-Its,” more for the amusement factor of the box (”Rick and Aaron aren’t going to believe THIS!”) than for any potential turn-on factor.

We wandered along the wall, reading the signs above the shelves denoting the sections. Combo, Lesbian, Group, Gonzo (??!), Gay/Bi/Trans…. I don’t know why Lesbians were in two different sections.

I noticed at TV mounted on the wall above a magazine rack. There was a sign taped below the TV that said, “Weather Channel,” and that’s what was playing. So, in the corner of this porn store, right next to all the hardcore gay porn mags and videos, is this TV playing the Weather Channel.

Fucking surreal, man.

The trip, in addition to being good for laughs, was mildly educational. I learned that the chick who I saw so often on Aaron’s computer is named Kobe Tai. Yeah, she’s pretty hot.

Earlier today I visited Beth’s site. I love that she updates so early because that means I’ll have something to read early in the day, or I can wait ’til later. Her weblog for today has links to several online tests. I’m a sucker for those, as they’re always a great way to kill some time. Not that I’m not busy enough at work….

Anyway, I took the IQ test. 147. According to that site, that makes me a genius. Yeah, if that’s so, why am I still unable to tell my left from my right without taking a full minute to think?

I also did the E!Online “Who’d you do?” test. This pops up celebrity faces in pairs. You click on the person you’d rather do. At the end of the test, you get a little “personality analysis.”

The first question just freaked me out. Bart Simpson vs. Eric Cartman?? Honestly, my first thought was, “They’re kids!” Well, I continued on and did both versions of the test (guys and girls), though at times my answers were along the lines of “who would I rather NOT do.” I mean, what sort of a choice is there between Ol’ Dirty Bastard and Fat Bastard?? (For the record, I chose Bart over Eric and Fat Bastard over ODB.) My results from both tests are below:

Guys I picked: Hooters at 8, don’t be late.

Sure, beauty is only skin deep, but you do recognize that what’s on the surface DOES count. Implants have their virtues.

A sucker for deep, sensitive eyes, it doesn’t really matter to you if there’s a world of nothingness behind them. Hey, good conversation is available ANYWHERE.

In love and in a mate, you have high standards and even higher hopes. You are a dreamer. You should consider moving to L.A.

Girls I picked: Ozzie, meet Harriet.

You value hard work and good, clean living. You have a healthy respect for the family-themed ’50’s. You might find love over a glass of chardonnay at the symphony or at a dinner party with friends.

You’re not afraid to cut loose — you just do it behind closed doors. While your ideal mate live mainly in celluloid — occasionally laving you alone with cold, hard reality — you are strident in your desire for what you see as perfection.

Hang tight. The ’50’s will be back… eventually.

Apparently, I want a boytoy or June Cleaver.

Dale stopped by my office during his lunch to bring me a pain killer (I hurt my back yesterday). I sat outside and talked to him for a little while, and told him about the above test and my results. We agreed he wasn’t either a boy toy or June Cleaver, but he added, “I guess I’m more like a boytoy.”

“Really?” I countered, “I think you’re more like June Cleaver.”

He punched me in the leg.

And, Happy Valentine’s Day to you too!

OK, folks! I’m terribly sorry about the lack of entries. But, last Tuesday the components for my new computer arrived, and thus began a computer-hell week.

Tuesday

Parts arrived. I got home at 6:45pm. Time to go get a case. Dale and I rush out the door. The third shop we go to actually stayed open past 7pm. We debate between two similar cases and choose the one that is slightly more aesthetically pleasing. Dale had originally intended for me to order a case from colorcase.com since the prices are comparable (I’m rather fond of this one), but I figured that no one would ever see it since it sits on the floor under my desk, so we just stuck with a standard “putty” case.

Back home, Pamela’s lessons in How to Put a Computer Together began. They were basically Dale telling me, “plug that in here; screw that in there. If it doesn’t boot, we’ll know something is wrong.”

Initially, we had some boot problems. The computer didn’t want to ackowledge that I had two hard drives. Actually, it just didn’t want to recognize either. But Dale fiddled around and got that fixed. The new hard drive keeps making a clicking sound. I was still a little sick and it was already late, so I went to bed as he installed Win98.

Wednesday

Tired tired tired. I decided to not even touch the computer and went to bed at 8:30.

Thursday

I’m informed that there’s a conflict between the video card and my USB ports. And the new hard drive is still clicking. It’s like the hamster wheel needs to be oiled. Dale fiddles with the video card and USB settings some more.

“Oops.”

*sigh* He told the system to uninstall the video drivers. System overkills and wipes the contents of the new hard drive.

“Yep. Microsoft makes some mighty fiiiine products,” is heard for the umpteenth time. It’s officially Dale’s catchphrase now.

My poor sweetie reinstalls my OS. I start to get cranky as I go into internet-withdrawal. I’ve already resorted to reading my email via telnet at work, though I’m still unable to reply to any. At least I can weed out the spam.

Friday

*grumble* OS is up, still getting a video card/USB conflict. Dale talks to Aaron who agrees to trade my old crappy video card for one of his unused (but much better than mine) cards. I reinstall a few programs, not wanting to get too involved in case the hard drive (which is still clicking) decides to purge itself again.

Saturday

New video card from Aaron still conflicts with USB. We decide to upgrade to Win2000 when it comes out to see if that will help. Dale has turned my old box into a Linux-based firewall. We’re both messing around online. I try to send a link to a picture of him to a mutual friend on a MUD, but the command doesn’t go through.

“Hrm, I think I crashed.”

“No, you didn’t crash. Your link went down.” *giggle* *snicker* *snort*

My beloved console-jockey dropped my outside link through the firewall, thinking he was all sly and Da Shit. When he tried to link me back up, it didn’t work. Growing rather pissed, I restarted my computer as he instructed. Still no good. It takes like 10 more minutes of fiddling before I have an internet connection again. Then, I discover that dropping my link like that managed to fry my login macros for zMud. It takes another 10 minutes to get that fixed.

The whole time he’s giggling and laughing and thinking he’s just pulled the funniest stunt in the world, and I’m flamingly pissed.

I go back to my web page to try and find the picture I was going to show Kersti. It’s part of a gallery of pictures. It’s gone. The muffled laughter next to me gives away the reason. Dork-boy moved the picture to another directory, then in the original dir. he copied another picture and gave it the same file name.

He’s practically rolling on the floor, enveloped in hysterics, he’s so damn proud of himself. I briefly consider widowhood.

Oh, wait, I guess it was that night that he went to get the video card from Aaron, because when he got back he told me he told the guys what he’d done, and they all thought it was just the funniest shit too.

Sunday

Dale’s reinstalled a few more programs, and backed up the install files on the old hard drive in case anything happens to the new one. Sunday evening is the most time I’ve spent online since last Monday. I finally get to answer email. Still haven’t reinstalled Homesite, though.

Monday

Dale calls me in the morning to tell me he’s just decided to return the new hard drive (mail order) and buy a new one for me locally. The clicking has continued and we fear that’s an indicator of potential problems in the future.

Yay. We get to @%#(&* reinstall again tonight.

Oh, I don’t feel so well today. Actually, I’ve not been feeling well for a while now. I think what I had last week and over the weekend (and is still lingering) may be the flu. Fever, tired, tired, tired, easily nauseous, and today, pretty damn achy. I didn’t sleep very well either. I tossed and turned all night, and at one point I dreamt the alarm had gone off and that I’d gotten up and started my day.

When the alarm did go off, I felt awful. I was exhausted, like I’d gotten no sleep. My left wrist felt like I’ve been playing racquetball or lifting weights. My neck and shoulders were terribly tense. Actually, it’s 10:30pm and they all still hurt. I went and showered, hoping that would help. It didn’t. I had a doctor’s appointment later that morning, so I just called Alex and told him I’d be in after the appointment, then I went back to bed until I had to leave for the doctor’s.

This was actually a follow-up for lab work that had been done last week. This fatigue is killing me. I can’t seem to fall asleep at night, but then I can’t wake up in the mornings. Despite my extra bit of sleep this morning, I was a wreck. But, according to the lab work, I’m as fit as can be on the inside. All systems working perfectly. No thyroid problems. The only concern was that my blood sugar is elevated. I’ve had previous tests with that result. The doctor said I’m pre-diabetic (ack!!) but my blood sugar level isn’t high enough to warrant medication. I just have to watch what I eat and start exercising.

I already knew that. *sigh*

But, the reason I’d gone in to see the doctor in the first place was because my therapist recommended it. I’d started seeing him back in August or September, because Dale and I had been fighting badly lately. (I have problems controlling my temper.) We stopped the fighting, and I stopped going to see Dr. Watts. But, I figured the fatigue and the sleeping problems were worth talking about with him. He suggested I go to my regular doctor for a checkup to see if the cause was medical.

Since it wasn’t, I called Dr. Watts as soon as I left the clinic, and got lucky. He had an opening at 3pm. It was about noon.

When I got to work, everyone was at lunch. I worked on a couple of little things until Alex was back. I asked him if we could go talk, and we grabbed Leesa and headed for a small conference room. I’ve had a lot of sick days lately, and I just wanted to let them know what was going on, that I was dealing with this fatigue and trying to find the cause so that I could remedy it. They’re both cool people, and they are understanding. I told them I was going to be leaving again at 2:30 for another appointment and likely wouldn’t be back after because of how crappy I felt.

“No problem.”

My “medical” doctor provided me with copies of the lab results, so I had those to give to Dr. Watts. We discussed antidepressants, which the other doctor had also said might be a start. Though I don’t object, it seems weird that I’m going to be taking antidepressants. I don’t really feel depressed or unhappy, except in regards to the way the fatigue makes me feel. Both doctors have also and again stressed that I need to start a regular exercise program.

That’s something else I’ve known for a long time. It’s just that I’m so damn TIRED all the time. It’s a vicious cycle….

OK, on the homebuilding front- Dale met with the sales guy and then with the construction boss. He told me that he really did feel reassured after talking to the c.b. who explained why there had been such problems and delays in the past, and (more importantly) why those wouldn’t be issues anymore.

Still, he’s concerned about us getting screwed if the house completion is delayed a month or more. Our realtor is concerned as well and brought that up again with sales guy, asking about what they would do if completion was delayed. Sales guy said that in the past, they have made concessions such as sodding the entire yard instead of just the front, or providing more trees.

We told Susie we want that in writing. We don’t want to seem like we’re trying to be greedy buggers, but we want our asses to be covered just as much as they want theirs protected. It’s only fair, right? So, she passed that along to sales guy who, of course, said he’d have to talk to his superiors. He’s actually off Mondays and Tuesdays, so we’re supposed to hear back on Wednesday.

Gosh, this little drama is tiring me…. I’m going to go soak in a hot bath for a little while, while reading Martha Stewart Living and fantasizing about being a Domestic Goddess in my own home.

OK, so today Dale and I screwed up our courage to go tell our builders how we’re feeling about the delays on starting our house. Well, that was the plan.

I convinced Dale to give our realtor a call first. We’ve not been too thrilled with her lately either. She was actually referred to us by Dale’s mom, who used to be a realtor herself and is still connected to the business. She hadn’t been very proactive about calling us to see how things are going, nor has she been pushing issues with the builders. We’ve kind of felt like she’s thought of us as the kids of a coworker, and not as clients in our own right. Still, I wanted her to know our plans.

That turned out to be a good decision. Our realtor agreed with our views of the situation and offered to call the builder’s rep herself. We happily let her do that as Dale and I went to Target to buy socks. Lots of socks.

See, Dale and I have been living out of the laundry basket for about a month now. Since we never sorted all our socks after the last time the whites were washed, we were just scraping together pairs each morning. Well, we reached the point where we were absolutely sick of upending the laundry basket onto the bed each morning. So, rather than say… fold and put away all the clean laundry, we just decided to buy more socks.

Ok, ok. We’re not really that pathetic, but Dale’s been complaining that his new sneakers made his socks bunch up under his heels. I pointed out that all his white socks are ancient wrecks that are stretched way out of shape, and several pairs sport interesting holes from Maggie’s sock-stealing days.

I was also running low on whole and healthy socks. I cut up at least two to wear under the brace at night after I’d sprained my ankle. Today’s pair, dredged up from the floor, each had the same nearly-worn-away spot just above the heel.

Yep, new socks were a must. So, we went and bought 27 pairs between the two of us.

After we got home, I decided to start laundry and get those new socks washed. They went into the first load. Then I washed the sheets, more dirty laundry, more dirty laundry, and a full load of all our old bastard socks. The mood was upon me, and doing the laundry just wasn’t enough.

I had to CLEAN! And clean I did. I did the dishes, even hand-washing the ones that I couldn’t fit into the dishwasher. I started sorting the junk off the coffee table. I sorted, folded, and hung ALL the “old” clean laundry. Then I put the nice clean sheets back on the bed. Dale helped me with this, but I think it was more because he wanted to watch Spritel play Bed Shark.

Spritel looooooves it when we make the bed. You know how you stand at the foot or the side, grasp the edge of a sheet, and snap it out to cover as much of the bed as possible? Spritel loves to get under the sheet when you’re doing that. Then he charges around under it attacking your hands if you’re willing to play.

Pumpkin’s version of the game is more typical. He gets on the bed and attacks the moving lumps under the covers. You can imagine the fun of making a bed with Spritel and Pumpkin going at each other through the sheets. It is quite cute, really.

After the bed was done, I dealt with each basket of laundry as the loads finished. I think I did 4-5 loads, though the last one (the reject socks) are still sitting in the dryer. Sue me.

With the laundry out of the way, the magazine mess all over the bedroom floor was much more visible, so I tackled that next. I even pulled the dresser away from the wall and discovered half a dozen of Pumpkin’s pompom balls back there. Needless to say, Pumpkin was thrilled.

Despite my fatigue of late, I was in a real cleaning frenzy. After cleaning the crap out of the bedroom, I was disappointed to realize it was after 2am, and much too late to vacuum. Dammit! I want to vacuum! I settled for gathering up all our trash, but Dale was kind enough to take it out.

While Dale and I were out at Target (and later at Lowe’s) our realtor had called to let us know that the builder rep was upset that we wanted to cancel our contract, and that he wanted to talk to us. I called twice and left messages after Dale and I got home. The sales guy called back around 8pm. I told him how we felt about everything, how disappointed we are in the builder, but that we don’t blame him (sales guy). He kept trying to convince me that things would be different now and that we should meet with the construction supervisor. I finally gave the phone over to Dale (forced it upon him, really) because I didn’t know what to say anymore.

Dale ran through the same spiel and got the same one back. Eventually, he agreed to meet with the construction boss tomorrow (noon) but that the sales guy should keep treating the situation as if we are going to cancel our contract. I can’t go to that meeting as I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, but I’m sure Dale will contact me before making any decisions.

Damn, I want to go vacuum!

Dale and I are trying to make a tough decision. We’ve been very unhappy with the lack of progress on our new home. The contract was signed on Nov. 18, and to date, there has been NO progress. We’re trying to decide whether or not to cancel our contract with our builder.

Early this evening, we drove around and visited a few communities we’d looked at in the past. We really liked the David Weekly homes, but they may be out of our price range. Also, the community we were at was a lot further out from Austin than we wanted to be. But, it’s a very nice community, and as Dale says, it’s better to be the poor house in a rich neighborhood, than the rich house in a poor neighborhood.

We also drove around a neighborhood that is very close to ours. It’s not one of the typical suburban “Master Planned” communities. This looks like property that’s built up as it’s sold. The lots are HUGE and so are the houses. (By big lots, I mean you could fit 2-3 suburban homes across one lot.) There’s also a private airstrip out there, and you can even see airplanes behind some of the houses. We’d really love to buy a place out there, but Dale is convinced the area is out of our price range. I think it’s worth checking into, though.

The first communities we’d visited were up 620 into Round Rock. Later, we drove up Brushy Creek. We’d never been north on Brushy Creek before. It’s a very pretty tree-lined road. After several miles, we started seeing houses over the tops of the trees. We were wondering how to get over to those houses when I realized it was the back side of the 620 communities. Dale didn’t believe me, as both Brushy Creek and 620 intersect with Parmer Lane and appear to run parallel to each other. I told him I’d seen a map and that 620 curved, but he didn’t believe me.

We got back home around 7, and Dale and I put the Salt Lick meat in the oven to heat. Aaron showed up around 8:45. The other guys were still in San Antonio, so we figured they’d show up to eat later. After stuffing ourselves silly, we became bored. So, we set off to Blockbuster in search of entertainment. On the way there, I asked Aaron (I was nice enough to let him ride shotgun) to get the map of Austin from the glovebox.

After wrestling with that huge piece of paper, I found what I wanted. 620 and Brushy Creek did in fact curve in towards each other, right about the area I said they did. I happily gloated to Dale, and he grudgingly acknowledged I was right. Aaron asked why I hadn’t looked at the map when Dale and I had been out earlier. Well, I’d planned to, but somehow I’d been distracted.

As we wandered along the DVD new releases, a title caught my eye. I grabbed it and said in disbelief, “From Dusk ’til Dawn 3?!”

“Yeah,” Dale said. “Oh, you didn’t even know they made a second one?”

“Of course I do,” I snorted, “we watched the second half of it together.”

Thus began another debate. Dale said we’d never seen it. I said I distinctly remembered it because the cable info button said that Bruce Campbell and Tiffany Amber-Thiessen were in it, but not in any of the scenes we saw. He said I was thinking of some other movie that starred “that comedian.”

“How much do you want to bet?” I challenged.

“Uhhhhhhhh, nothing….” was Dale’s wussy reply.

I left the boys to the new releases and went in search of the horror section. And I couldn’t find it for 10 minutes. Finally, Dale walked up as I stood scanning the titles. “Freak Show… Frighteners… From Dusk ’til Dawn…. Nope. Not here.” I’d already checked the “F” section of the new releases. It happened to be right behind us.

I must be blind. Because we turned around and there they were. Two copies sitting on a lower shelf. Positively gloating, I snatched one up and held it aloft, triumphant. “What is this??”

“Ok, ok…. But what was that other movie, that starred the guy from The Phantom?”

I pondered for a moment. “Billy Zane? Oh, that was… Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight!” As he nodded, I added, “Don’t challenge me on movie trivia!” Then I dragged him over to Aaron and made Dale admit that, once again, I’d proven him utterly wrong.

OK, normally I don’t gloat like that, but dammit, both times he’d just dismissed me instead of at least waiting for confirmation. And, it was fun to rub his nose in it a little.

I’m gonna get smacked if he reads this.

So, ego fix done, we headed back to the apartment with Jackie Chan’s Police Story 2 and Reborn from Hell: Samurai Armageddon. We picked up the latter just ’cause it sounded so weird. And, it was. All these warriors allowing themselves to be killed by a sorcerer so they could be reborn as demons and then dying ugly green-blood-spurting deaths as the good guy hacked them to bits. Here, Ming the Merciless has a pretty accurate review of this waste of lime Kool-Aid.

Jackie Chan was as amazing as ever. No other movies make me wince like his do. The stunts those actors do boggle the mind. We think Jackie must be part monkey, and totally nuts.

The movies ended just a short while ago. I wasn’t yet tired, so I figured I’d write this up before going to bed, which I shall do now, as it’s 3:20 a.m.

Today was another stay-in-bed-until-mid-afternoon day. I hate colds. I seem to get two really nasty ones a year, that linger a few weeks apiece. I dragged myself out of bed around 3:30, just as Dale got home. He left work early because I’ve apparently passed my cold on to him.

Later that evening, we both trudged our butts out the door and downtown. Back in November, I’d gotten us tickets to see The Kids in the Hall at the Austin Music Hall. They were doing only one show, and it sold out long ago. At $90 for the pair of tickets, we sure as hell weren’t going to miss the show.

Showtime was supposed to be 7:30. We got down to the music hall at 7, parked in the garage across the street, then boggled at the line that ran from the front doors, across the street, and down the length of the block. We joined the masses in line, and wondered at the line. We’d figured they’d be seating people already. I hope no one thought to rush in and grab front row seats, as the tickets were assigned seating, and it was a sold-out show.

One of the guys in line behind us went to find out anything he could. He came back to say that they weren’t planning to open the doors until 7:30. Bah! By this time, the line had doubled in length and was wrapping around another side of the block.

Dale and I were worried about our seats. We had no idea what the seating arrangement in the AMC was like, so Section B, Row 2, seat 1&2 could either be awesome seats, or we could be stuck way to one side. (With my luck, I figured it was the latter.) We needn’t have worried. Our seats rocked!! There were 5 sections, I guess the middle one was C. B (our section) was to the right of C. We were right on the aisle between C and B, and, because parts of the show involved them being down in front of the stage, there wasn’t even a Row 1 in Section B!

I was so excited, I could barely sit still. I went and got us drinks. Dale was hungry, but the closest to food they had at the bar were lime wedges. We finished our sodas. I was looking around and noticed that the guy behind me had a bunch of souvenir stuff. Ah! I remembered the stand we’d passed on the way in the building. It was kind of late, and I was afraid the show would start soon, so I hustled out to the souvenir stand. I slapped down my credit card and started pointing. Happy, I trekked back to my seat laden down with a T-shirt, souvenir book, stickers, and a poster.

I’m such a sucker. I actually don’t even know how much I paid for all of that. Shhhh! Don’t tell Dale!

The show finally started around 8:30. (I’m guessing, because neither of us was wearing a watch.) It was great. Dale and I have never been to a show like this before, so we didn’t really know what to expect. I was hoping it would be like an episode of their TV show. It was. They did some old skits from the show (”I’m crushing your head!”), and some new stuff. Of course, the Chicken Lady, Buddy Cole, and the Headcrusher were featured.

One thing that was so fun about going to a live show was that there was a lot of ad-libbing, and the Kids interacted with the audience. Once, Dave turned to whisper loudly, “I can’t say ‘hi’ back. I’m in character!” Maybe I’m just a dork, but it was really cool to be RIGHT THERE, UP FRONT, seeing them sweat, and watching them trying not to laugh at their own antics.

And as I said, our seats were great. At one point, I was this (____________) close to touching Dave Foley’s ass during his “Mr. Heavy Feet” routine, but I wussed. Kevin McDonald also went crawling past us before one skit (the Headcrusher).

Alas, the show ended, and the struggle to get out of the theater began. I’d really hoped to be able to get autographs, but it wasn’t in the cards.

That is my ear. My left ear, to be specific. And, that picture is there for a reason. It has to do with my innate ability to …. well, weird shit just happens to me.

After my shower this afternoon (bite me, I’m sick and didn’t get up until 3pm), I sat and talked to Kathie for about 20 minutes, and just kept a towel wrapped around my head. When I went to comb out my hair, I discovered that three of those four earrings had tangled themselves together. Yep. The two in my earlobe, and that funky one in my cartilage. (That’s called a helix.)

This has happened before, but only with the second lobe earring and the helix.

Fortunately, it’s not painful, but it is very awkward. And, the two previous times I was unable to untangle them myself. Once, I had to call Dale home from work to untangle my earrings. But, this time, I was able to untangle them myself. After about 10 minutes.

Pathetic, eh?

(In case you wanted to know, my right ear just has one lobe piercing and a helix.)

I have two scars above the right side of my mouth. They’re nearly invisible unless I stretch my lip. Then they stand out, white against the pink of my lip.

When I was in 4th grade, I thought I could make friends with the neighbors’ evil West Highlands Terrier. I was trying to give it a hug, and it bit or clawed me. I was just suddenly bleeding. I ran into the house and past my shocked sister. I whispered to her, “Don’t you dare tell mom and dad!” I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

Beneath the copious blood, two HUGE gashes were visible. I knew this was beyond me. I opened the bathroom door, and my sister was there of course. “Go get mom! No! Get dad!”

Despite the ghastliness of the injury, I wasn’t in pain. I was much more afraid of getting in trouble.

Both parents appeared, freaked (of course), and bundled me off to the emergency room. I sat and held an ice pack to my lip for 45 minutes or so, before I could be seen. Of course, the doctor said I needed stitches.

Uh uh! No way!

I argued against stitches, being willing to live with scars, until they threatened to strap me down for the procedure. I decided I’d be better off complying.

That was a horrible event. Though I still wasn’t really in pain, the doctor injected novacain before he began. I was lying on my back, and he seemed to take forever to line up my face, just fiddling and fiddling. It was a creepy feeling. At one point, I couldn’t breathe. His hands were blocking my mouth and blood was running back into my nose. I couldn’t talk so I had to tap him on the arm or something. I think I was scolded for disturbing him. Hello? I was choking on my own blood.

Getting the stitches (6 total, 3 in each gash) didn’t turn out to be that bad. Though I had to get a tetanus shot too. And, the neighbor’s dog had to be watched for signs of rabies. However, I freaked when I saw myself.

Have you ever seen the movie The Fly? The one with Jeff Goldblum? Do you remember the scene when he gets those big nasty black hairs growing out of his back? That’s what my face looked like. I had these big black threads sticking out of my lip like some monster mustache.

My mother tried putting a Band-Aid over it. That looked awful too. I cried. I didn’t want to go to school. No one would like me anymore. Mom put me in a pretty dress, and made me go.

At recess, I stood by the wall. I thought none of the other kids would even want to speak to me. Scott Jacqmein walked up and asked me if I wanted to jump rope with him. I nearly cried from the relief. Someone still liked me!

Scott and I were close friends up until his family moved away, around 8th grade. I’ve always missed him. He was my first “boyfriend” and he was my first kiss, innocent as it was. I wish we’d kept in touch. I’ll never forgot his kindness that day.

My parents are damn cool, and very thoughtful. Dale received a birthday card and a present from my folks today. Inside the card was a $100 gift card for Home Depot (to go towards our future home). Inside the package was a dinner for 8 from the Salt Lick! Wowsers!! It includes two big sausage links, a half-rack of ribs, and a giant brisket! (Frozen and vacuum-sealed.) And, of course, a bottle of their deee-licious BBQ sauce. None of the usual sides, like potato salad and baked beans, but who cares! We gots MEAT, baby!

Dale and I have plans for tomorrow and Friday nights, so we’ll likely be having the Salt Lick dinner on Thursday night. This gift has surprised us both. And, it’s so generous! They ordered the meal that they did so that we could share it with our friends. It’s like they’re throwing him a little birthday dinner. I love my parents.

And I miss them. Terribly. I realized back in December, that that was going to be my first Christmas away from my Mom, Dad, and sister. Ever. I mean, it’s not like I lived at home until last year, but even when I was away at school, I would go home for the holidays. But, this year was Dale’s family’s turn, since he’d spent the previous two in Virginia.

I still had a great Christmas, but I missed my family.

They say you don’t know what you’ve got, until it’s gone. How sad but true. I mean, my family isn’t gone, but now that they’re a thousand miles away, I regret not having spent more time with them before Dale and I moved away. It sounds cheesy, but I mean it.

Damn it. I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t so damn Hallmark-y.

My family lived in the Central Texas area for 8 years of my childhood. My Dad grew up in San Antonio. I know he likes Texas, but my Mom prefers the East coast. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and Dad will convince Mom to move down here when they retire.

I think May is going to be the next time we see my family, when Dale and I head up for my sister’s graduation. We’re probably going to make a little vacation of it.

You know, what I should really do, is write my parents, and let them know how much I love them and miss them. They haven’t gotten an actual letter from me in years.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. We love you.

Kathie sent me this: