Works in Progress
Wavy scarf for Christmas present in Manos del Uruguay (mostly on the shuttle, so it's slow going)

Current Obsession
Head.Must.Stay.Above.Water.

Last Google Search
Airline prices from Sacramento to Memphis - my parents have both sold their houses!

Woo-Hoo!
We have tickets for the Old 97's on October 16! Happy anniversary, honey!

Loving
My Netflix queue, which saves me from real TV

Munching
Burritos with home-cooked pintos, sharp cheddar and spinach

Cooking
Roasted peppers with crumbled queso fresco

Garden stuff
My poor garden - totally neglected and dry.

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Many thanks to:
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Artwork © Lian Quan Zhen

Previously...

i got a new attitude - September 24, 2004

- - September 22, 2004

- - September 20, 2004

Is this thing on? - September 20, 2004

- - September 15, 2004

December 05, 2003

December 05, 2003 - 2:31 p.m.

Finally figured out where all those random words came from last time. C.S. Lewis! Puddleglum the Marshwiggle in The Silver Chair. God, I love the Chronicles of Narnia.

My giddy slap-happy goof-a-romp mood has re-appeared. Maybe they're piping happy gas into our air ducts at work. Yesterday's chippermunk mood was also super-productive, yielding a close-to-spotless house, another completed Christmas hat, and a mostly completed slipper por mi Papi.

Excuse me while I lower the dose on migraine medication...whoosh. That's better. Now I won't skip going down to get another diet Pepsi. (Seriously, I was skipping earlier. In the office hall. And I wonder why they don't promote me.) Ah. Is there anything as beautiful as the fizzy goodness of a newly opened can? Beer, soda, Aranciata - it all makes the nose prickle with CO2 and fills my tongue with joy.

Um, rescind that. Not only can a tongue not be filled with joy (thinking practically for a second), but ew, gross. Joyful tongue. Even I'm not that filthy-minded.

At lunch I bought turkey necks at the Co-op, intending to make soup for Scratcher tomorrow while the Nice Lady with Power Over My Future appraises my house. What do you think - is it intimidating to walk into a house where the owner is slamming a cleaver into poultry bones, or does that make you feel all homey and Beaver Cleaverish? I mean, soup, right? It's feminine to make soup. But maybe chopping bones with an enormous Chinese knife is not, so much.

Assmonkey me has been blathering on about Scratcher lately, bewildered by how well it's going. I even like his friends, for fuck's sake! How nutjob is that? We're supposed to argue, or have "issues", or something. We're not supposed to be as comfortable as a summer nap in a hammock. But that's how it is; comfy yet with enough difference to make things interesting and sexy. Schwa. Narf. I run out of words trying to describe it, so had better shut up before you all have to run and throw up from the sugary sweet ick.

Speaking of Scratcher's friends, though, I should mention that the world is an itty-bitty place. Say hello to Guinness, who's one of the above mentioned cool friends. Would you believe that I didn't know he blogged, he didn't know I blogged - that we found each others' sites through Helen in Sweden of all things? So it goes like this: Sacramento to San Antonio (David) to Sweden and back to Sacramento. Not just the same city - we hang out in the same damned bar. How nutty is that? How random? Anyway, if you haven't already, wander over and say howdy to Guinness. He's lovely.

All right, for 30 seconds I'm going back to sex. Bear with me. Guinness, honey, this will be a lot of info for someone who's going to see me get drunk tonight - read at your own risk!

It's not possible that I'm the only person who hears Portishead and wants to jump the nearest warm body, is it? I'm listening to "Roads" off Dummy - and all I can think about is Jennifer Lopez in her pre-fuckwit days, stripping down for George Clooney in Out of Sight - which leads me to sex, leading to my having sex, leading to Scratcher, leading to a plot to sneak into his house tonight and be there waiting when he comes home from work at 2:00 a.m. Would it be rude to just unzip him when he walks in the door? Or should I be more patient and hop into the shower with him? And have I ever written about how fucking great it is to be able to orgasm anywhere, anytime without touching anything? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, if I'm in the right mood (as now) with the right background (Beth Gibbons singing)...rowf.

Ahem. Excuse me.



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