In the realm of Very Exciting (To Me) News: it is beloved payday, and I just sent off one of my last few car payments, with extra dollars in it so I can finish these payments sooner. YAY. My savings account has also reached what I decided long ago was an actually potentially helpful amount - so I though I have a bigger savings goal, I also had this mini-goal, and I've reached it and now looking at my savings account is a soothing exercise, instead of being yet one more financial thing that makes me hyperventilate. I say again: YAY.

Instead of thinking about my anemic retirement account (which DOES still make me hyperventilate), I shall focus on these wee triumphs and order pizza tonight, in celebration.

I have this weird weird WEIRD and sudden desire to read some really bad Christmas romances. It's weird because I just hate those books. Haaaaate them. And yet I want them so much right now that it's scary. That's what spurred me to throw some books in the swap, so I'd have more points to get some crappy Regency Christmas compilations and suchlike of that ilk. Imagine my delight, then, when the SB's opened a thread to ask for holiday romance recommendations. It's like they read my mind. So I ordered a Mary Balogh (because I've been meaning to read her) and will probably get more and more and more Christmas romance books, a whole stack. Then I shall read them until I'm thoroughly sick of them. It's like substandard Christmas candy. It's laying around. You just keep stuffing it in. Then one day you snap and realize you can't even stand to look at it anymore, and you chuck it all in the trash, and it's over. Ahhhhh gluttony.

Here's something almost as weird: yesterday, my car heater turned psychotic. Not that I fault it - it IS winter in Chicago, after all - and I certainly prefer insanity over death, since a dead car heater in winter? Is really bad. But it didn't die, it just decided to work only when it's on full blast. It's all or nothing. Hot wind tunnel action, or silent and cold. Like the car made an executive decision that it's not worth waking up unless it's a Big Event, or something. It's been a very good car, so I really shouldn't complain. But man - it's way annoying.

In case anyone's still paying attention, I've been at mostly a 3-5 MQ this week. And though it's the week after Thanksgiving, I've had no very late nights at all. Just an hour here and there. This seems more than a little Christmas-miracle-esque to me, and it's too early in the season for Christmas miracles, so I expect it to turn into a horror show any day now. Juuuuuust FYI.

Argh. I kinda want that pizza now. Yes, at 7:30am. Yes, with the taste of coffee lingering on my tongue. Yes.

But I guess I should get dressed and get Friday over with.

Why oh why, every time I open this blogging window lately, do I compleeeeetely forget what I was gonna say? It's really frustrating. Argh.

I am totally recovered from my stomach flu, but I managed to infect Tom's baby. Who then infected Tom. Who then infected his wife. It's the gift that keeps on giving, apparently. Haven't heard from Dawn, so I dunno if I gave it to her fam either. At least I didn't spread it at the office - I had visions of coming in Monday to find all of my employees out sick, and as this is the Christmas season in retail, that would be more than slightly horrific.

In other news, long hair in winter is a pain in the ass because you have to dry it before leaving the house and sometimes you're in a hurry, okay. Rar.

Another annoying thing: how any mail over 13 oz. must be mailed from the Post Office, handed to a stinkin clerk. I have time for this? No, I do not. But I have to mail out two books for the swap and I guess it's worth it to get rid of such trash. Whoever out there wants The Pillars of the Earth and The Kite Runner - well, I feel like I might as well put my stomach flu in the packages instead of the books. It's about as painful, vomitous, and gross, and takes less of your time than the books will. Enjoy.

And grrr I miscalculated and it'll take a month more than I thought to pay off my car. GAH.

Okay I'm gonnna be late gotta go bye.

It's Wednesday? Wednesday, right. Got it. Buuuuuuuut---- I don't wanna go to work. There is just not enough coffee in this world. Waah waah waah.

Anyway, note to self: call about the typos. Today or tomorrow, no later than that.

PS: Coffee is good.

This is a tale of many selves.

Hi self, says I at some point day.
-Hullo, myself replied.
So how are you?
-Really, really, really tired.
Yeah. How are the other girls?
-Honestly? I don't care.

You do too, but okay. Look, I really need to know how we are. And what we're thinking and wanting and stuff like that. You've sort of been on duty and I think I'm on board to take over now, but I need a status check, okay?
-Well. I'm tired, as previously noted. The wounded one's stopped bleeding all over the place for the most part, and even stopped sulking 24-7. Not that she doesn't have her moments, but she's just kind of quietly mending. Scar tissue's pretty bad, but she'll live.
Okay, that's good. I don't see Self Destructive around. What gives?
-Same old dangerous self. Hanging like a bat on the ceiling. She'll swoop down just when you think it's safe. Like that thing driving home a couple of weeks ago? Never saw it coming. Lucky we're not on life support, I guess.
Any ideas on how to make her play nice, keep her from killing us in our sleep?
*Cute. Which means no.

Speaking of that, how's the actively planning suicide chick?
^Hey right here, been wondering if you'd come along, maybe we can bounce some ideas off each other?
You seem alarmingly perky.
^I wouldn't worry. I can't get past who would take care of the cat, much less where I'd hang the rope from.
-You hear that? Rope. That's the latest one. That's why she'll never get anywhere, I mean not a single one of us is going to learn how to make a noose, okay. It's way too arts and craftsy.
^You're just jealous that I can still think creatively.
-I'm too tired to be jealous.
All I really want to know is if there are any immediate and actionable plans out on the serving platters. Any?
^No, I meant it. I can't get past who would take care of the cat. Plus we'd have to get our affairs in order, and the exhausted one still carries way too much weight.
Okay, good. Do me a favor and don't get chatty with the self-destructive impulse one hanging like a bat in the rafters. Just be solitary. Noodle in solitude on living wills or something, 'kay?
^I'm on it.

*She really is useless, you know. Not a single workable plan to get us out of this shithole.
We're mostly thankful for that. How's the little one?
-Quiet. Miraculously. Wake her up and we're all done for, but for now she's not a major factor.
That covers all the trouble spots, then. But I need to talk to everyone.
-You really gonna take over?
Not just now. Soon. Maybe. I'm working on some stuff.
--We've been hearing you. Sounds promising.
Maybe. I dunno. Look, I just mean - I'm going to take care of you guys, okay? Or I'm going to try to.
^Oh. I like when she takes care of us.
>Me too.
-You have a plan?
Yes.
>No you don't.
A kind of plan.
--A vague notion of a maybe. We've been listening, remember.
Right. Okay. But.

Here's the thing. I've been listening to you guys too, and I think I can do this. At least I can try. It's not quite ready, but it's starting to come together.
``Oh oh oh it TOTALLY is, I actually smelled a ray of hope for all of like 3 seconds earlier today. And not the kind that's drenched in desperation, either!
*Hope. Bullshit. Don't trust it, never will.
``Oh I'm just saying it's a sign. Gah, she's so cynical.
It's really pretty modest. I don't want anyone thinking it's groundbreaking or earth-shattering or stop the presses or anything. It's like when you have a bad pair of shoes and you're feet are like ON FIRE, you know? And you change into new shoes.
``Cool shoes? Or cute, we love cute.
~Boots? We need boots.
--Some kinda devastatingly fabulous shoes?
No no no, just some loafers or something. Comfortable but not perfect. Not what you want to wear all day, but not torture devices. And not sparkly.
>Why the fuck would we want those?
Because our feet are killing us.
-Can't we get big fluffy slippers?
Maybe we should forget I mentioned footwear.
-No footwear works for all of us, as an analogy. Please.

Right okay - it'd be like a move from crippling foot-chomping shoes to some Payless casual shoes that have very little arch support but you like well enough, and have the potential to be really great if you pair them with just the right outfit and don't go walking for like 10 hours on city streets in them. Or something. And they may allow you to get even better shoes one day.
>Got it.
And this will really involve a lot of effort in several different areas for non-spectacular results.
-Oh jesus. We're reallllllly tired.
I'll be doing most of the work. I just need everyone to agree to put me in charge and let me overrule the rest of you when necessary, as a means to an end. Or a beginning. Well except the self-destructive impulsive one, I mean, some parts of human nature just can't be controlled.

*I have an objection. A couple of the things you have in mind--
POTENTIALLY have in mind, nothing's definite.
*They are not exactly things we're gung-ho for, as a group.
-Not now, not historically.
+And some of them we are just not entirely sure we're capable of.
~And I swear to god if you put us in another situation where we are shown in no uncertain terms how little we fucking matter to other people, we'll have to chain suicide-girl to the wall.
I know I know, I swear I know and I'm really really really sorry about that and we can talk about those mistakes later and how they're not exactly mistakes - I mean I actually have charts and graphs, you guys, you KNOW I never put us in that position without excellent justification, and I won't this time either.
*Blah blah blah, here comes the analytics.
-Oh you are so NOT allowed to make us do math.

No math. Promise. Well, some math, but you can just look at the bottom line, I won't share my scratch-work or anything. I've been hearing you guys, even the ones of you that haven't talked in about forever because you loudmouths who've been up front too long.
+Sorry. In our defense, though, the others were perfectly happy to go all wallflower on us.
I think we're all ready for something to change. Even drastically, if that's how it turns out.
*It won't.
Probably not, no. And it's still really vague and uncertain, but I promise it can't be worse than this. I figured that much out - it is actually impossible to be worse than this.
>Charts and graphs on that later, please.
Sure, fire up the PowerPoint. But a really important element here is that everything will be designed with the silent ones of us in mind. I'm specifically making room for you guys this time.
+Dude.
Don't even.
+Dude, seriously.
Shut up.
+Okay fine. Design our life around the worthless ones. Because that's ever worked before.
Everyone deserves a turn. Life is only so long, we're in it together, and there can be no great harm to come out of it and maybe a lot of good. No one's shoving you out the window, anyway. Democracy rules.
*But it starts with you as dictator. The ancient Athenians would be proud.

~I'm scared.
>As usual.
~How do we know you'll take care of us? I mean really. Seriously, now. Not even close to kidding. How can we possibly think we might be okay?
Because. Someone who knows us once said - remember? - that we've always been okay, at the bottom of us. And we always will be. I'm the bottom of us. I'll make us okay.
~Nice of you to finally show the fuck up.
Yeah, I said bottom for a reason. Y'all are one hell of a pile-on.

Right, so - are we done? Can I stop feeling all hopeless and frustrated in the corner and try to work on some stuff now?
>None of the rest of us have any marketable plans. Go ahead.
*If we wind up in a pair of lime green Crocs, though, I swear I'll kick your ass.
~I really meant it about needing boots, by the way.
We're buying other things first. Well, unless we find a perfect pair, that is - I'm one of you, after all, not passing up a good pair of boots especially if they're on sale and maybe we should stop by DSW Friday except oy krykee the crowds, but ANYWAY. I need to start by talking with each of you individually to make sure I have your demands straight. I'll make a list.
``Dr, Dawn will be so proud.
-Hey while you're interrogating, find out which one of these bitches keeps bruxing. My jaw is killing me.

###

And that's what happened in my head today.

Gnite.

As I was driving home yesterday, I did some math in my head (always a dangerous thing with me) and realized that if all my debt were paid off, I could very easily live on 30% less income. Which, let me tell you, is quite the motivator for getting out of debt. Not that I needed any more motivation.

Being a few months away from paying off my car seems to be exciting my synapses with money-thoughts.

And now I must go work. Sigh.

Eh. I don't blame you, I don't feel like blogging either. But do go vote at Kate's Kontest. I like #1.

Good morning, everyone, and if you've had even half the sleep I have this weekend, you're coming out ahead. Seriously, I'm ridiculously well-rested. I'm desperately scrounging for clean laundry, it's true, but am fully recovered from the dread stomach bug which laid me low. These things are a trade-off.

So anyways, it's

Smart Bitches Day!

Anybody gonna bitch? I can't say I will. When it comes to books and reading, my brain has just come to a full stop lately. It's pretty sad, actually. I miss that part of my brain. However, I am still fully capable of enjoying the bitching of others, so please do participate and let us all know by dropping a comment, eh?

I will go drink coffee now. Pip pip.

All better. The flu has run its course. Hurrah.

Funny: I've spent the last 18 hours or so alternately sleeping and reading Wodehouse. My vague dreamings were confusing takes on the book, causing me to wake up and wonder, That didn't happen, did it? That wouldn't make sense. They're not in New York, this one's set at Brinkley, I thought... My brain was (poorly) constructing its own Jeeves book in my sleep. I can only assume my subconscious so feverishly worked away at it because it really, really wants Pongo Twistleton to star in the show.

As a result, "Pongo Twistleton" is playing in a loop in my head since yesterday evening. Pongo Twistleton. It is a great name. Pongo Twistleton Pongo Twistleton Pongo Twistleton Pongo Twistleton.

Oy.

So Thanksgiving was both fraught and fun - the littlest neff was sick and wound up in the emergency room just about noonish. Poor kid. Turns out he has strep throat, and as he'd been vomiting so much, his Tday dinner consisted of tea and a cracker. He makes us go around the table to announce what we're thankful for, so all of us agreed we were thankful he didn't have to spend the whole day in the hospital. And that that we live in an age of awesome doctors and medicines.

I brought a wine called Falanghina, which is now like our fave wine ever. Highly recommended. The potatoes I doctored were declared by one and all to be mashed unto perfection, and my brother (of all people) steamed up a giant bowl of vegetables in my honor - and they were terrific, exactly the right firmess. Kudos. Much fun was had by all, even the poor kid with just a cup of tea on his plate.

They sent me home with scads of leftovers including almost an entire pumpkin pie. It was retaliation for the pb cookies, of which my brother and the healthy neff ate approximately 4 dozen before dinner was even served. The little neff began to feel better and could have a few bites of real food before conking out, so all was well in the end.

Then last night, I drove to Indiana to have a sleepover with Dawn, who was visiting her parents. I walked in the door and her mom fired up the wok - fried rice and her eggrolls, sans meat pour moi. Bless her. There is nothing in the world quite like that woman's hot fresh eggrolls, wrapped in a lettuce leaf and soaked in nuoc mam. Bliss. Then we went to visit Tom, who was visiting his parents too.

It was slightly surreal, to sit around that same kitchen table in that same house where we sat and talked so much of our youth away. Dawn's still the same - complaining about studying and tests, even after becoming the doctor that she planned to be, that she talked about becoming all those years of sitting at that table with her friends. Tom too - science this and science that, from the viewpoint of the science professor that he always wanted to be and has become. And me, still with no fucking clue about my life.

Anyway. It was nice to see them, for all three of us to hang out a bit. Also nice to see Tom's son, who is still the cutest baby in the western hemisphere.

So I stayed the night, woke up and had breakfast, and drove home. And started to feel sick. Then started to feel really sick. Then just hoped I'd make it home what with how feverish and queasy I'd become. Then found a message on my machine from my brother, wondering if I was sick because they all had the stomach flu and did they pass it on to me? Why yes, they did. So with a warning from him that I could expect a lot of violent puking, and then a call to Dawn to tell her to burn the sheets and matresses where I'd slept, I took to my bed.

The worst of it is over, I think. My brother and fam seemed to have it way worse than me. Still, I'm trying to get up the strength to leave this chair and make a cup of tea. And I reallllllly need to do laundry tomorrow, but how to lug the hamper up and down three flights when I feel so icky is beyond me at the mo. Ugh.

Anyway, that's how my holiday weekend's been: much wonderful food, many fabulous people, and only a little barfing. Not bad. Over and out.

First Snow!



It's odd only in its lateness - because we normally would have had a freak snowstorm like a month ago.

That's my car, incidentally. I left the wine and beer in the trunk. Here's hoping they don't get slushy.

I actually enjoy Thanksgiving. Not that I've never had horrible ones, but I think there's a lot to be said for a holiday whose only point is to sit around and eat food and be glad you actually have that food and were not, like, born into a Darfur refugee camp. It's when you add on the other extraneous bullshit that it turns ugly.

The last few Thanksgivings, I've mostly gotten to spend with my Bro4 and his fam - the neffs and the eye-talian and her brother and his wife. It's a very enjoyable group. If I had to add any more family to it, it'd be agony, no doubt. So there's my first thing to be thankful for: that I have a pocket of family that I truly enjoy spending time with, and that they live close to me.

When last I went to get my hair done, the eye-talian said "You going to your seester's house for Thanksgiving?"
Me: "No."
Her: "Why not?"
Me: "Because apparently I'm not invited, since this is the first I've heard of it."
Her: "Oh she probably was thinking your mom would tell you."
Me: "You realize my mother and I don't speak anymore?"
Her: "Oh. Yeah. "
Me: "One big happy famiglia, remember."

So there's my other major thing to be thankful for: I don't have to deal with my mother today. (She hardly ever even calls and leaves messages anymore. It's rather blissful, I must say.) Also none of my sister's whining - although I must say that this really is a classic.

Further thankfulness: No driving for hours to a place I don't want to be, to see people who drive me batty. Down with holiday obligations, sez I.

And other things: that I can pay my bills, which brings me much joy. That my bodily pains are few and far between. That I still have the friends I have left, and that they care so much about me and truly want the best for me. Very especially Snookie, who never ever fails to step up and deliver when I need a friend - even when I don't see it myself. I have a lot of amazing friends and it's not like all the rest are just chopped liver or anything. It's just that I've been leaning so much on Snooks this year, and she has just awed me with her levels of support and concern and thoughfulness and, well, love. And there just aren't words for how thankful I am for that. I'm thankful just knowing it exists in the world, but that it's directed at me just ups the gratitude exponentially.

I'm also thankful that I bought both beer and wine to bring to this shindig. And chocolate (the neffs are chocolate fiends). Trying to decide if I want to make the peanut butter cookies. I probably will, because my brother looooves them. And I looooove his pumpkin pie, so it'd be a reciprocal thing.

In conclusion, I'm thankful my hellacious headache from last night is gone, with only a tad of stiffness lingering in the neck. I'll take a nap now (three cheers for crawling back in bed on gray days) and wake up without the stiffness. One hopes, anyway. If the nap doesn't do it, though, the wine and beer will.

Happy Tday.

In a lame attempt to turn around my anti-holiday sentiments, I shall redecorate le blog.

Ho ho ho.

This is how I am:

Most days, I still just mostly sit around wondering how soon until I get to die and get it over with. It's not good news, but there it is. That's the state I'm mostly in. Yes, I realize this is alarming and very much Not Good.

I have, however, pinpointed both what makes me most unhappy, and what is most missing from my life. I don't know how to get rid of the one and get more of the other, though. I'm working on it, but I don't really have a solution just yet. But knowing the causes shrinks it to a less terrifying thing, something I can understand. So that's good, even if the lack of an action plan is rather lamentable.

You read this, all of you, but it doesn't mean you know shit about me. It really doesn't. And the place I hold in your lives, if any at all, is so very insignificant that you haven't a chance in hell that I'll listen to much of any heartfelt advice any of you has to give. I'm a peripheral figure in pretty much every life I touch, and that's not even counting the exclusively electronic kind. I am central to no one's life, least of all readers of a heavily censored blog. I'm not saying this to be an asshole or to make everyone shut up and go away, or whatever else. I'm just saying: it depresses me even more to read earnest emails from people who do. Not. Know. Me. At. All.

I feel - I've been feeling for some time - as though whole parts of my brain are being smothered. Suffocated. No air and no light, dying gradual and quiet deaths. An oppression of the synapses. You wake up and find entire landscapes blighted. This is how people become hollow shells of their former selves - that thing we all swore we'd never become, back when we were teenagers full of passion and volume and ridiculous amounts of optimism. But it's hard to rage rage against the dying of the light and whatnot, when you're just tryng to keep a fucking roof over your head.

I've worked quite hard the last couple of days and I'm very tired and achey and ready for a day off. I drank more than my fair share of cheap wine tonight (Binny's end-of-the-bin clearance, wahoo) and I need to get to bed. I'm worn out - not just from work, but from life - and I can't survive much longer like this and I should brush my teeth but I'm sure I won't and I'm full of regrets and bitterness and resentment and cheap white wine and self-disgust and such vast quantities of boredom. And I have to do laundry this weekend and I don't want to. That's how I am.

In case you were wondering.

Suisan, you should just say something like "Oh, don't lower yourself to eat with the animals this year, dear, our sty is too crowded anyway. See you at your funeral! Kisskiss!" Or something. But then, I'm really a bitch, so perhaps I'm not the best source on this one.

The rest of youse: Celebrate Smart Bitches Day! with...

Kate!
and
jmc!
and
Kerry!
and okay I'll mumble some.

Movies and stuff

So because of the utter brilliance of the Redbox video kiosk at the grocery store, I am
(a) buying more groceries than I need, and
(b) renting movies I normally wouldn't touch with a many-footed pole. Because hey - it's only a buck.

Here are some:

The Lake House - You know, I knew it would suck. I knew it would suck really pretty badly, even. And I was not disappointed. It was just really stupid and pointless. And (of course) full of plot holes, but that's to be expected. However, it's worth more than a dollar just so that you can see all the really great Chicago scenery. Keanu Skeeves plays an architect-type, and so they really show a lot of the best architecture here, the famous and not-famous. It's wonderful at showing you how it looks here. Of all the movies I've seen depicting the city, this is one of the most rewarding to look at. But for godsakes, don't expect a good story. Eek.


Premonition - I dunno, I never really feel like paying to see Sandra Bullock, even though I like her well enough. This one is surprisingly good, though. It's not that it's completely unpredictable (though it's also not completely predictable, either) or fantastically complex or edge-of-your-seat or whatever. It's just a good story told well, and the whole time you're wondering what's really happening and why. It focuses on the characters and their relationship and in the end, it's really about love and how transforming (in good and bad ways) it can be. I dunno, I was thinking it'd just be mildly entertaining but mostly dumb - and it turned out to be far better than I thought it could be. There's more there than is usually in a Hollywood movie. And by that, I mean I don't feel like I was spoon-fed my allotted ration of pablum. Nice.


I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry - I want my fucking dollar back.


Paris Je t'Aime - Totally a pick to click. It's a bunch of vignettes (like 5-10 minutes long each) by different directors, all set in Paris and all with Love as the theme. And it's not just romantic love, but all kindsa love. Each piece is set in a diffrent arrondissement of the city. In general, I am not some huge fan of Paris. unlike my niece, I didn't grow up wishing and hoping and sighing that one day, oh one day pleeeeease I want to go to Paris! (This despite the fact that I was a French major.) But I will say that there really is something about the place. Every time I've gone there - every single time - I always have a moment where I catch my breath and think in this dumbfounded/delighted way, Oh my god I am in Paris. ME! In PARIS! There's just something about it that makes you feel ridiculously alive.

So this movie really showcases the city, all parts of it, and such diverse characters. Some of the pieces are silly and some are a tad maudlin, but most of them are just fantastic. There was this one with an African guy asking a girl to have coffee with him - it just killed me, that thing. And the one with the guy who's going to leave his wife? Gah. And the little boy telling about his mime parents is both adorable (the kid) and hilarious (the mimes in jail). Seriously, just rent it. It's a wonderful way to spend a couple of hours.


There ya go, that's that. In other News Of Entertainment: I officially gave up on Heroes a couple of weeks ago (man, it's so sad how bad it's gotten), Dirty Sexy Money is fookin BRILLIANT and I LOVE IT, and the last couple of episodes of 30 Rock nearly made me wet myself multiple times because it is just that damn funny. Book-wise, I ain't got nuttin going on except Snooks said I should try an Eloisa James, so suggest em if you got em.

Okay bye.

Hey, it's

SBD

Comments are open. Go for it.

I have good days and bad days. Well, that's not quite it - I have okay days and not-okay days. Today is a not-okay day. Very not okay. But oh well. I've pretty much resigned myself to the idea that I am built for unhappiness. Just have to get used to it. The unhappiness, that is.

Anyway, whatever. I need to run Sunday errands now, which I find unutterably depressing even at the best of times. I'm thinking I'll stop at Payless and buy some kinda cheap shoes. If any look fun, that is. There was somewhere else amusing I wanted to stop in, too, but I can't think where. What I should do is get a book. Or something. Not that I think I will.

Like once or twice a year I have a Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Period. (Used to be more frequent, ugh.) I spend a whole week or so feeling like I've been beaten about the head with a baseball bat in my sleep. I'm always hot or cold or clammy or suffocated, because the room is either stuffy or freezing or just completely fucked up. I have entire mornings where I can't eat anything but chocolate or I swear to god I'll vomit - and then I eat an amount of chocolate that should make me vomit, and that's how I get my equilibrium back. There's always at least one full day where no matter how much I eat, I'm still hungry. (I tend to just give in on those days and get it over with. A twice-a-year gorging is acceptable, especially when one considers the consequences of not obeying the body on those days. And by "consequences", I mean "severed appendages of innocent bystanders".) I also get this weird ache in my ribcage that always makes me think I've cracked my ribs unknowingly, and it really really hurts.

This is all aside from the typical bloating, cramping, heavy-flowing, headaching, carb-loading, cranky stuff that most women go through anyway. That's old hat and not even noteworthy anymore. This is my own personalized extreme, and I'm very glad I'm only subjected to it once or twice a year.

Note a weirdness about me: I am in general a very private person, yet I'll talk about my period with pretty much anyone. I think it's stupid to be shy and embarrassed about it. It's so common - I mean, half the population goes through it (or will, or has) every flippin month. It'd be like being embarrassed to talk about your hay fever. But anyway.

So the last few days have been my Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Period, and there's not so much crankiness or crazy-eyed emotional mood swings this time (yay), but holy mother of god - the pain and the lethargy. Off the charts. The worst has been how completely lame my workouts this week have been. Wednesday night, I was 5 minutes into the workout and I swear it felt like I'd been doing it for 5 hours. I felt like the biggest crybaby wimp, and I spent the whole hour (okay, I gave up after 45 minutes) just kinda shuffling my feet and waving my arms. And whining inside my head about how hard it was, and I just wanna sleep, and it hurts, and waah waah waaah. It was pathetic.

Also: for some reason this time, my tastebuds have stopped working so well. My coffee tasted unbearably weak this morning, even though I brewed it strong as ever. I got pizza last night, with extra extra garlic - and it still wasn't garlicky enough. The most satisfying thing was the panang noodles I got yesterday at lunch, and just the smell of em will make your eyes water. Everything I eat has to be highly spiced or else it's bland bland bland. And I feel the need to nap approximately every 45 minutes or so. And my feet are like blocks of ice while the rest of me is sweaty, or vice-versa.

What I'm saying is: this is seriously motherfucking annoying and I want it to be over now. It's bad enough I have intense cramps for more than 4 days now, okay, but do we have to fuck with the taste of my coffee, too? Can I sleep for more than 2 hours without waking up to adjust my clothing layers according to what's burning and what's freezing? Have I not suffered enough, o ye menstrual gods?

You know what God DIDN'T do to Job? Give him a period. Try that on for size, Mr Oh Me And My Many Trials. Boils, schmoils.

Okay, well the good thing is that my workout this morning was kick-ass. Except I was burping garlic throughout, which is so very attractive and pleasant.

The other good thing is that I don't have to do anything today except lay around. After I swallow more advil. And eat some M&Ms. And put on many many socks.

It's really really hard to be me, people.

Hey, did I ever mention what a joy it is to be able to pay all my bills? I know it's been a couple of years now, but it still brings me huge happiness. The shine doesn't wear off. I wonder if it ever will, and am reminded how I read an interview with JK Rowling once, where she was asked about all the money and how it feels to be so stinkin rich now after her rather extreme-for-the-Western-world poverty. She said that it was a daily relief, not having to worry about just making ends meet, and how it's the greatest gift in the world to not lay awake nights wondering how on earth she'll make it through another day without two pennies to rub together. Something along those lines. It struck me how she still hadn't become cavalier about the money, but instead was still intensely grateful for it.

Anyhoo, it's payday. So I just paid my bills. And have plenty leftover. I usually treat myself on Fridays by picking up something for dinner (or ordering in) because Friday nights are made for sitting around on the couch with takeout food. I am never more of a homebody than I am on a Friday evening. I just gotta decide what food I want.

I have recently come to the conclusion that it is pretty much impossible for me to look crisp and clean and very put-together. Like how bankers and lawyers look, you know? I'm always at least a little rumpled, a tad too casual. It's partly my hair, which refuses to be nice and neat (unless the eye-talian has styled it to be so) - it's all exuberant and luxurious and talktalktalk, even when it was short. It's never a quiet object. It's totally present and vocal. And even when I have the perfect clothes, they just don't hang on my body in a crisp clean freshly laundered way. I think overall, I'm just very comfortable with myself and my body and way too unconscious about my appearance. People who look put-together are always aware of their physical selves being on display. I am not. I don't think of my face/body as a presentation. So no matter how hard I try, I'll always look like I'm ready at any moment to slip into (or just slipped out of) some flannel pj's.

I'm okay with this. It's just that I noticed it. It'll save me a lot of effort, to stop trying to look sharp.

And as long as I'm spilling about recent realizations, I'll just tell you my cat is fucking psycho and I've been wanting to chuck her out the window for a week. Every night and every morning, it's meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow OH MY GOD SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. She wants to go out the front door. She gets in this mood every oh 6 months or so. So I let her out. She goes and sniffs around, her eyes wide, for maybe 2 minutes. Then she runs back inside. then she begins with the meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow again.

EVERY DAY. FOR A WEEK.

It's turning me into a felilnicidal maniac. She's got to run out of steam eventually, though. Cats always find a new object of obsession. Just please god, let it be soon. Or else I'll have to lock her in a closet or something.

Oh. Is that the time? Do I really have to go to work? It's Friday. Isn't it enough that I woke up and drank coffee? Do I really have to do more than that? It's really asking a lot.

Sigh.

Holy shit, y'all. I'm watching this documentary on PBS about the Miss Navajo pageant, and they have to know all sorts of stuff Miss America doesn't know. For instance, they have to butcher a sheep.

I said: THEY HAVE TO BUTCHER A SHEEP.

This is the awesomest pageant ever.

Yeah, so obviously I didn't make it around to SBDing last night. (I love that SBD is a verb now.) I worked out, I came home, I cooked, I ate, I tried to watch Heroes but didn't even make it to the credits (gads, it's just awful), then I just kinda accidentally... fell asleep. On the couch. These things happen.

But! Others have bitched smartly for your entertainment! We gots

Lyvvie! (I wanna read that book now - or at least skim it)
and
Kate! (a seriously awesome list of typical historical inaccuracies)
and
jmc! (OMG, I HATE that those books totally shaped my young ideas of reomance. Barf.)
and
Doug! (I completely agree: people are fucking retarded to insist that if it's good, it will eventually get published. That's just complete and total bullshit. Seriously. Because that theory requires people in the publishing industry to recognize and value quality. And from everything I can see? They don't. So there.)

I must now have more coffee. Good day to you, sirs.

Oh, Monday. Sigh.

But - it's also

SBD

I've just finished a really bad book, so maybe I'll talk about it. But we're in November which means I'll be steadily working myself to death for the next 2-3 months, and I can't promise to ever be fully present and conscious for SBD, not until I get to the other side of January. I will try, of course.

You try too. Comments open.

Holy God, it's after 10pm. How the hell did that happen?

What I really need is an accurate clock somewhere other than the computer. I have clocks all over, but none of them are accurate. This is probably indicative of some kind of mental problem, I know, but there it is. The wall clock in the kitchen is worthless and has been from approximately the moment I hung it. It just refuses to keep time. For more than a year now, it's been stuck at 9:08. Sure I should get another one, or at least take it down. But I just don't care enough. Then there's the microwave clock which is always at 00:00 because I only plug in an appliance when I'm actually using it. And my alarm clock is routinely wrong. I set it ahead. And often forget to wind it.

So I wind up here at the computer whenever I'm curious about the time. Which is often. Which is why I should fix my clock issues. I know.

Whatever. End of Sunday is always so sad. Stupid work tomorrow. A whole stupid week ahead of me.

Yesterday I had the Italian touch up my roots. She also trimmed an inch or so off, and now all the most damaged hair is gone. No frayed ends. She noted how fast it's growing, and wonders how long it'll be in the spring - we bet on 5 inches, maybe 6, maybe just almost to the small of my back. It's fun, how ridiculously affectionate we are toward my hair. Then the manicurist grabbed me and gave me a French manicure. For free. New hair and pretty pretty nails - I feel so posh.

Then I went to my brother's house so he could teach me how to change the oil in my car. He did, but only in theory. Not in practice. Because it turns out my oil doesn't actually need to be changed, yay. So he also showed me all the things to look for to see if your oil actually needs changing. It was all very educational. Especially learning that I have really such a good little car - my brother's actively jealous of the engine, which is reassuring.

After that they brought in Chinese food and, because my brother lost a bet (with all the rest of us, over grades on his son's report card) he had to go buy us pies at Baker's Square. We ate pie with tea, then I played Piratissimo and Uno Attack with my neffs until midnight.

So basically, I had a weekend of free hairdo, free manicure, free dinner, free pie, free lesson in car mechanics. Talk about cleaning up, man.

This morning, the little neff woke up and came to hug me. The faint stench of morning breath and that sleep-smell all over his head, body warmth in all the folds of his fleece pyjamas, and I said Hey there beautiful boy, good morning - how are you? And he said, "I am awesome."

What an enviably wonderful way to start a day. Roll out of bed and declare "I am awesome."

Thing That Is Funny

Snookie. Of course. An email exchange:

Subject: This is my work email

Me: See my signature for the world's stupidest job title ever.

Snookie: I have to agree on the job title. I think it should read something like: Beth Kingston, Bluestocking. Or maybe, Elizabeth Kingston, Heaving Bosom?

Me: We should start our own company and call it Hellions LTD. I could be Chief Executive Hellion. You can be Chairman of the Hellion Board. Or something.

Snookie: Untamed Hellcat? Fiery Vixen? Well-Formed Pauper?

Me: Sadly, I feel extremely tamed and very unfiery. Also sadly, am far from well-formed. If we're going for accuracy, I'd have to be Foul-Mooded Generic Citizen. I'd much rather be duke-bait.

Snookie: Proud Beauty? Outlandish Minx? Petulant Heiress?

But really, one cannot beat Foul-Mooded Generic Citizen as far as wit goes!

Witty Wanton!

She should really use her powers for evil, and come up with titles for romance novels. I'm especiallyfond of The Petulant Heiress. Though The Well-Formed Pauper and The Witty Wanton are rather charming. And god knows Foul-Mooded Generic Citizen would sell like hotcakes.

SHOE TRAUMA

Because apparently I'm not miserable enough.

So my almost all-purpose wintertime boots? The extremely comfortable yet not totally frumpy footwear that I have on like 4 out of 7 days a week from October until May - you know those? I mean these:



I got them maybe 3 or 4 years ago and they serve me well. And with grace and enthusiam. Yet it's taken its toll, it would seem. The top seam is beginning to fail. The upper is losing its structural integrity. Did you hear me? I said THE UPPER IS LOSING ITS STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY.

I tried to take a picture but I couldna quite capture the damage. So here's an arrow pointing to the site of the wounds. In this place, on each boot, the seam has unravelled about a half inch:



I cannot express how upsetting this is. I love these damn boots. Not as much as their predecessors (the Cloud Nines, which I actually wore holes in), true, but I love them nonetheless. And I don't feel like going boot shopping.

Yeah, you heard me. Your eyes did not deceive you: I don't feel like going boot shopping. At all. I've been stuck at a 9.5 since Sunday morning, for fucksakes, and now my goddamn boots are coming apart. I am in a very bad place, okay, very very bad and now my fucking shoes are giving up on me. I don't want to shop. I don't even want to drink. I just want to sit over on my couch now with my tattered shoes in hand, weeping and whining and mourning my heretofore faithful footwear.

So there.

Dude, it's totally

SBD

I had a thought on what I'd bitch about, but it has totally flown from my thimble-capacity brain. A bummer, but hardly surprising seeing as how I keep forgetting to blowdry my hair this morning. I'm sitting here all spaced out, and periodically wonder what I should be doing, and remember - oh yeah. Wet hair. Go blowdry. Then I slip back into lassitude.

Oh, Monday. You so crazy.

Anyways, bitch away. And be smart about it.

Tis the season for pumpkin spice, thank all the sweet saints of delicious sweets, and the world of coffee is catching on to the Starbucks trend. At least, I think of it as a Starbucks trend, though I wouldn't be surprised if they stole it from some little independent cafe or something. In which case, I salute their thievery, for I have profitted from it. And it's all about me, remember.

Starbucks: Meh. They were better off when there was no one else trying to make these things. In comparison, theirs is just passable. It doesn't have enough pumpkin OR enough spice (except cinnamon), and their actual coffee is just okay. But I also think they've changed the formula. It used to be more pumpkin-y. Kinda bums me out, to taste how the mighty have fallen.

Panera: Too sweet, but in all other ways, it is Awesome. It's exactly enough pumpkin, and exactly enough spice (the cinnamon-to-nutmeg balance is fabu), but way too much sugar. It almost tasted like they just tossed in an extra shot of syrup or something. A shame. If they'd tweak it a bit, it'd be kick-ass. As it is, I can't drink it.

Dunkin Donuts: Not cuttin' it as a pumpkin anything. I could barely taste pumpkin and there was no spice at all. (To be fair, they call it just a pumpkin latte - no spice.) It is, however, an EXCELLENT latte. I'd never gotten anything but plain ole drip coffee from DD - which I adore, btw - so as a latte, this was a revelation. The next day, I stopped for a regular non-pumpkin latte and Holy Crapoli It Was Fuckin Terrific. Because of it, I go around thinking about coffee and how I should just run over and get a DD latte at all hours of the day and night. They have totally taken over whole acres of my gray matter with thinking about their latte. Damn.

International Delight Pumpkin Pie Spice Creamer: Will do in a pinch, but is just too... I dunno. The balance of pumpkin, spice, sweet, and creamer is all off, and I swear there's some faux pie crust flavor in there, which is just eww gross. However, they got it out in the stores like a full month ago, and it was $1.50, so I got some. Not preferred, but we do what we gotta do.

Coffee-Mate Pumpkin Spice Creamer: Is totally the way to go. Honestly, it really is. What I do is, I buy the Dunkin Donuts whole bean coffee, then grind it fresh (yay coffee grinder) and brew it good and strong, then add the Coffee-Mate dollop by dollop until perfection is achieved. It actually doesn't take that much, and this way you can control exactly how much flavoring you want. And it's a good flavoring - they did a good job. And it FINALLY showed up at the grocery store, just yesterday. Huzzah. I know this is technically not a latte, but I also don't care. It works for me.

Gone but not forgotten: The hands-down best pumpkin spice latte ever was at the little coffee shop just a couple of blocks away from me. I had one or two or three last year, and I dunno how they made it, but I do know there was a whole cinnamon stick in there. I also know they only offered it for a couple of weeks. And this year, they haven't had it AT ALL. I kept checking throughout October and then again yesterday, but no. Nuttin. Bastards. Idiots. FOOLS. It's just mean and torturous of them. Rar.

There you go. Do with this information what you will. I recommend no whip cream and 2% milk. Carry on.

I keep waking up at the part of my sleep cycle that makes me remember only the vaguest outlines of my dreams. They seem to be similar, with all of them set somewhere in my childhood. The house is there, and my brothers and sister, old friends I haven't been close to or haven't even spoken with for years, the neighborhood, places where I used to spend my time being bored and waiting for the day I could leave.

I remember when I finished college (so much later than everyone else because of the obstacles and interruptions and Issues) and I got my first real-live grown-up job, with my own desk and paychecks and benefits. And I got back in touch with Snookie and after a few months, I confessed to her the rather heartbreaking disappointment of it all. What a let-down. This is it? This is what it's like to be an adult in charge of my own life and gainfully employed and all that? It was all just so... unexciting. Boring. Pointless. It looks way better in the movies.

She answered: Yeah. Pretty much. Aren't you jealous of the people who really like it? And I am. Jealous of the people for whom it's enough.

It's like a lot of other things: the pay-off is far less enjoyable than the anticipation. Like how my favorite part of traveling is almost always being on the plane or the train, moving toward somewhere I want to be.

But I've run out of places I want to be. I'm pretty much just left with places I don't want to be. And life goes on and you compromise and make sacrifices and weigh the value of carefree impulse against the relief of paying your bills, and you get older and you lose a lot of laughter and even more hope and just about all your sparkle. And you feel most days like you're made out of dusty old cardboard. It gets hard, even impossible, to remember the person you used to be.

Then you wake up from a half-remembered dream that maybe had to do with trick-or-treating when you were 10 or so. Or maybe not, because it was summer and warm. Walking down Marshall Place, not far from the hill that seemed so steep when I was a kid but turned out to be little more than a slope to my adult eyes. I think my sister was with me, and maybe some neighborhood friends, like Crystal and Kari and Heidi. That's all - I don't remember anything else, except I was a kid again. I keep having these dreams, of playgrounds and school hallways and friends' houses and places we used to just hang around in our desultory adolescence, where we'd talk about getting out, what we'd do and who we'd be and how it would all be when we finally got out.

And all I can do is lay there in the dark, trying to remember what the dream was and failing, and knowing it doesn't matter. The details don't matter. It's an impression of a time and place and person. The whole thing is a question my past self is posing to me and the only answer is I don't know, I don't know, I'm sorry, really sorry, but I just don't know at all, anything.

I don't enjoy waking up in a welter of confusion and nostalgia and repentance. I don't enjoy feeling hopelessly lost. But hey - welcome to adulthood, I guess.

So okay - I was majorly sleep deprived yesterday, which is a state I generally hate because everything is about 50 times more horrible and impossible to deal with when one is sleep-deprived. But I made it through the day and then slept like a log for 8 solid hours last night, until the cat (and a car horn stuck in the distance) woke me. I had some breakfast, did some errands, then went to the gym where I stayed for the whole class. Including the floorwork, which I generally don't do because oh my GAWD it's like I have no abdominal muscles whatsoever.

Then I came home, ate, and decided to take a nap. That was 4 hours ago.

I just woke up. And I feel like I could sleep a little longer, I really do. And though I tell myself that obviously my bod needs the sleep, it's still upsetting to lose like half a whole day on it. Especially when it was the non-refreshing kind of nap, because I feel heavy-headed and dazed and still half-asleep. You know those? Yeah, so anyway. At least we fall back tonight and I get an extra hour this weekend. Hurrah.

Furthermore:

• I am ridiculously excited about that extra hour. I mean, REALLY excited. This is how pathetic my life's become.
  
• I want to see that new John Cusack movie. Because I love John Cusack.
• I'm thinking of buying a really cheap used laptop, and I keep forgetting to consult my computer-savvy brother about it.
• I want to work downtown again. I miss it very very much.
• I bought a coffee grinder and my coffee in the morning is holy-shit-delicious.
• I need a pedicure so badly that it's embarrassing.
• I haven't eaten any Halloween candy at all. NOT ANY. AT ALL. It's, like, destroying me.
• You know those little Redbox video rental kiosks at the store? They're a totally awesome concept.
• I've been trying every version of pumpkin spice latte out there and I promise to write it up for you fellow pumpkin spice latte lovers tomorrow.
  
• MQ 3-ish, due solely to the weekend.
  
• I can't decide if I want Indian tonight or something else. I think it must be Indian, because I can't seem to think what 'something else" might be.
• The smell of the air at this time of year? Is so indescribably gorgeous. I loooooove it.
  

Okay, I gotta go now bye.

If you've been wondering, the MQ has been in the 3-6 range lately, except for yesterday when it was more like 7 and today when it is 9.

But hey - at least Joss Whedon is making a new TV show. That's good.