and is love then more than the kick galvanic

i rang mums during my drive to rehearsement the other day. sometimes she comes across with really intense gossip. to wit:

her father, who we'll call Hoffa due to his union affiliations, and his girlfriend, who we'll call Psycho because she is, recently sold "her" house (some speculation as to whether she ever owned said house or was just squatting) and bought a house in a Friendly Neighboring Country.

so they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverl..., oh, wait, i forgot: Psycho never asked permission of the Government to move to said Popular Neighboring Country, so they were basically stopped at the border. now they and their apparently five million fuzzy pets are staying with friends whilst Psycho decides where they will go next.

and i picture all my aunts and uncles doing the e-mail/telephone equivalent of looking at their toes, whistling and suddenly remembering very important Things that they need to be occupied with ElseWhere, because i don't reckon any of them as likely to ask Hoffa to come stay any time soon. . .at least, not as long as Psycho is part of the package deal. Hoffa hasn't contacted any of them since the whole thing went south anyway, so it's a mutual sort of avoidance.

that idea of wisdom automatically coming along with age? yeah, not so much.

note left on my car during rehearsal
hi ryanna,
i found your car!
love,
lili and destine

imagined conversation after the fortuitous meeting of a british racing green mg and a boxy silver convertible
"hel-lo. i couldn't help but notice you have a cool car."
"you should know, having obviously purchased your own car from cool carl's cool car lot."
"isn't life just so much cooler when you have a cool car?"
"damn skippy."
"well, have a cool day."
"of course."

i know now it all begins again
fall's landing is cold
unbundled as i go out
far too full of self

even time well spent gets bent

i was busy trying to get my shopping act together when i heard the voice.

"you've lost him."

far as i was concerned, this was just another particle, man, in the Sea of Disconcertion. i was busy; busy being the kind of shopper that i hate. i was even busier trying to cease being the kind of shopper that i hate. i was running late, trying to buy things off two unfamiliar recipes and some notes scribbled on my hand, and fielding calls from PoolShark featuring directions and phone numbers.

in short (Too late), i had no time for voices.

"he's gone. you'll never find him again, raej."

this voice was gettin' a mite personal. i looked around warily from my cower near a corner of redundant fresh herbs.

"oh. hi comte."
"hey rae. how's it going?"
"k. he's not here, actually. i'm shopping on my way to work."
"on a sunday? sucks."
"yeah. see ya."
"later."

for the record, having to go in did suck, but i had fun while there, what with the cooking and the trampompaloon and the coconut rum and all.

and the leftovers made a tasty cake breakfast today.

ok, well, it was second breakfast, but still: cake.

you don't need my secret midnight call

the best thing i've written all day:

"I’m fully aware that I may just be the out-of-step troll yelling at you damn kids to stop trip-trapping over my bridge."

when i first held you i was cold

while i was busy being busy yesterday, i missed noting the four year anniversary of my blogging.

so, shrug, i missed it, too bad, maybe next year. . .

how to acknowledge this rather odd occasion, anyway?

and, just maybe, why?

but there aren't a lot of other things i've done, relatively consistently, for this long.

and there aren't a lot of things that are similar in life now compared to life then.

so.

then as now: cat, hair colour

for four years, i: was on the debate team, pursued and caught a BA

longer than four years and still: wearing glasses, writing poetry, daughter and sister

i started blogging because several people who commented on an e-comic i read had them, and it looked like something interesting to do with my free time at work. i had free time at work because i was a receptionist at a smallish company. i read the comic because an actor friend was giving me contact info for people in seattle as i was talking pretty seriously about moving there. i wanted to move to seattle as part of the healing process from a significant break-up. he broke up with me because he didn't love me anymore. leaving town seemed a reasonable response.

as not predicted, Blog has remained pretty darn whim driven. gotten more obscure, perhaps. capitalization has gone all to hell. colour template hasn't been touched.

the most succinct description i've heard for it yet, "eclectic, with occasional haiku".

and way more important to me than i'd readily admit.

. . .was sipping ci
der through a straw. . .

though there are a number of items irritating away at my mind this evening, i'm uncharacteristically taken by something positive:

i received an unexpected birthday present today.

unexpected because, well, my birthday was two and a half months ago.

i love that most of my friends and family are as intensely procrastinative as I am. takes off a lot of pressure.

i also love my newly presented hogwarts blankie.

if i wear it to work as a cape tomorrow, i'll be sure to have someone snap a pic.

in the meantime, there i am next to a former giant redwood. still giant, still redwood, yet still former. hm. my stance indicates i was either very cold or had to go to the bathroom. given the snow, i'm betting on cold. also, i seem to recall being - very illogically - worried about rattlesnakes.

tramping over brush and briar,
getting stuck in muck and mire
singing nightly by the fire...

i am jack's personification of the principle of inertia.

if i keep moving, i am fine. if i stay still, i am fine. if i try to move after staying still for a long while, like, five minutes or so, i am, weeeell...

let's just say that when the national park service rates a trail "strenuous," they're not fucking around.

camping zen = achieved. but i must've had many brain wrinkles to smooth if this much pain was required.

Who's flying this thing? Oh right, that would be me.

doing a reading of a joss-created series, even when he didn't pen the script at hand, leads to the spontaneous creation of new whedonisms:

"Could you stagger the icky a bit? thanks."

"Did you give her the turtle?"
"Yeah, did you?"
"Ok, it was less creepy when i said it."

"Archimedes was totally talking smack."

wowy wow wow wow

i want ann richards to run for president in 2008.

but if i can't have that, perhaps i'll take a candidate with a little more cowbell.

i've yet to hallucinate an entire snack cake

The strange offspring of one-night stand between a ding dong and a twinkie, chocodiles are elusive, but totally exist. I wants them. So there.

Aught? What? Ooot?

there's been so much...shouting into a barrel, lately. i don't have time to figure out what i'd rather be doing with my time. and how and how and how. but i weary of being tired and bored. mentally bored; i've plenty to actually be doing. which is part of the problem.

and more i'm so frustrated i'm vibrating. i need to stop shouting. or stop interacting with the barrel. or both. but when i get in this 'i hate i don't know i hate i hate fuck fuck' mood, everything is the barrel and everything i say is shouted and i don't know what to stop doing except everything.

and so i don't want to do any of the things tonight that i should do. i want to curl up in a room with a fire and a large bathtub and tea and books and an on-call masseuse who will only say two things "is the pressure ok?" "and "everything is going to be fine."

it's contract time!

more accurately, it's budget time!

at budget time!, i look over the contracts so i can make An Educated Estimate as to how much hospitality money i'll need between january and june of next year.

then i double that number to achieve A Wild Ass Guess as to how much i need for the whole year, which encompasses the subset Fall 2006 Artists Who Have Not Been Booked And Might As Well Freakin' Not Exist As Far As I Can Guess Their Hospitality Needs Or Even Their Identities.

given that i've been asked to not ask for any additional funding, the purpose of this entire exercise utterly escapes me.

except:

sometimes it is funny.

yesterday's most amusing line item ~ "6 bottles cold Nameofdarkbeer (Irish Nameofdarkbeer, with "widget", NOT domestic non-widget edition)"

i think "domestic non-widget edition" needs to be my new dj name.

mr. blue sky, please tell us why

monday morning, before the shuttle made its way earthward safely,

serious-voiced radio reporter woman: "today's scheduled shuttle landing has been postponed because conditions are way too iffy. . ."

we cut to a dull-voiced scientist: "for those of you unfamiliar with Advanced Science's Shuttle Danger Rating Scale, 'way too iffy' rests between 'sorta lame,' which would mean hazardous conditions with the landing still being attempted, and 'totally bogus,' which would entail at least a week and another spacewalk."

perspective.

at 7 pm thursday i was feeling grouchy because i had worked 13 of the preceding twenty four hours.

at 9 i called the puzzled patriot, who had spent the day dealing with meal and travel arrangements for two groups of elder-ish relatives staying on opposite ends of king county. his wedding was less than 48 hours away.

he told me that at 12:30 that morning, his best man's wife had been shot.

well, i lost count of my glasses of champagne somewheres arounbd, er, two, but i think

"did i moon someone at your wedding, too?"

will still be funny when i'm sober. whenever that happens.

this is one of those days that the pages of history teach us are best spent lying in bed

q: what's better than taking friday off to bake and rehearse and stuff?

a: finding out that said friday is katharine hepburn day on the former mr. fonda's film station.

(oh, and there's another thing, but blogging about it feels trite at the moment, so i'm gonna give it a few days.)

i'd build a tree fort in our yard

i seem to have broken my mope. . .or at least sprained it at least.

thus i feel up to sharing the coolest thing we've seen so far whilst home-shopping.

the agent likewise deemed it the coolest property he's ever shown. ev. er.

how cool? ahem: spiral staircase. converted paddle boat. three decks.

truly, my motion sickness is relieved that it's a no-go,...but that did not stop me sulking for three days (one for each deck, i can only assume).

would dressing in hunt garb and drinking champagne actually help the home search, or would it just make me feel better?