I realize I sure was beligerent last night on my last post. So much anger and such a filthy mouth for such a sweet, demure gentlelady. Well, I guess I just get tired of the same old stuff. It does feel strange to have a little "accessory dog" sometimes... like when I have him in his sling, for example... and I never intended to be one of those people who only likes the teeny tiny little dogs. I am a true big, slobbery dog lover in my heart-- it's just that Malcolm happened to be so cool and he happened to be so tiny. Nuthin' I could do about it.

Moving on. Halloween is less than a month away. That means I need to start planning a costume. I would love to hear any suggestions, so comment or e-mail me. I also would like to start posting pictures but I am afraid of downloading any viruses, so if you have any ideas how a little wuss like me can do it without fear of slamming my new computer with a shitstorm of pop-ups, let me know.

In K-Mart the other night, Trish started trying to get me all excited for Halloween by showing me the store-made costumes. I don't know, but I don't really like those costumes. I never have. I always like making my own costume or being something that I can throw together from my own closet. My best costume ever was when I sewed a bunch of patches all over a dress and went as Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas. It came out so good. My favorite part was the makeup I did and the white stockings with black Sharpie "stitches" all over them. So much fun. Last year I went as Death from "Sandman", which was another easy one because I had all the clothes in my closet already, all I needed was Trish's wig and to put makeup on.

But this year? I have no idea. The thing is, I do have some ideas, but which one do I go with? Trish was helping me, as I mentioned, and she suggested I could dress up as Princess Cop. Basically, I buy a generic "princess" costume and slap a police badge on the front of the costume and carry a gun or something. Maybe a parking ticket pad.... I could be Deputy Parking Rules Enforcement Officer Princess. I could make my entrance in one of those little carts they drive around in, and mark people's shoes with chalk to see how long they stay in one place at the party.

Or, I could be something like Electrician Wizard. I could get a wizard costume and wear a toolbelt with it.

Other ideas I have include Bloody Face Nun (easy enough); Fireman Fairy (Fairy costume with fireman hat and soot on my face); Catholic School Girl Shark (I make a shark's fin and attach it to my back, and get big pointy fangs for my teeth; perhaps carry a small, bookish bucket of chum?). The only problem with the shark one is people will think I am doing it because I am promoting Shark Tale, which I certainly will not be doing. I am tired of these animated movies where fish are given human qualities. It makes humans look stupid and fish look even more like assholes than they already are.

So we'll just see what I end up being this year. I think this whole compound-costume idea might be the way to go, though. As long as I don't end up a french-maid-whatever, I am happy. Honestly, that is one costume I never liked. I understand the quote-sexy-unquote appeal for the men and all, but I don't get it. Think about it. Who would really want to be getting it on with a maid? She spends her days sopping up urine overspill from the sides of the toilet, picking up dirty underthings and washing them, and she is probably covered in dust mites. Make sure she keeps that dirty old feather duster away from your pee-pee, 'less'n you want dust mites inside! Yeow. And I don't care if said maid is French; that isn't hot either. All they smell like is cheese and dead snails.

Okay, let's get this out on the table right now. I have a small dog. I have a chihuahua who is mixed with some other strange breeds. Yeah. But there is no reason that you have to call it to my attention when I walk him. You may feel that you need to, but trust me, you don't have to say any of the following:

* "Hey, yo quiero Taco Bell!" (you are so fucking original it makes me want to skull rape you with a rusty hammer)
* "That dog looks like a rat!" (you look like a gelatinous pile of human poop)
* "Awww, look at him shaking!" (you'd be shaking too if you were looking at a gigantic fat piece of shit in a Jeff Gordon T-shirt, too)
* "Hey, is that Tinkerbell?!" (fuck you, you fucking Paris Hilton fucker!)

You know, my dog is very cool. If anyone took the time to get to know him, they'd know what I am talking about. He's smart and he's a tough little bastard. He's kind of like an intelligent Italian Jew. That's how I think of him.

By the way, I really don't think I meant to imply that Italian Jews are stupid or something. I think I mean to imply that Jews are rarely Italian.

In conclusion, leave my fucking dog the fuck alone or I will seriously fuck with you. And have a very nice day. May the road rise up to meet you and a big giant man in a dog suit be at your back. Fucking you.

Today's top story is that one of the ladies who sang "It's Raining Men" has died. It's true. She can no longer go out and let herself get/ absolutely soaking wet. Unless, of coruse, you want to get technical about it and start thinking about things like cemetaries and corpses and the like... but really, who wants to do that on a Wednesday morn?

If it were really raining men, there would be a lot of head wounds happening. Men are not as light as feathers or water, they are heavy as hell. A rain storm of men would be pretty disgusting, really. And would take out a lot of roofs.

That song always makes me think of two things: middle-aged women at a Chippendales club, getting all excited about a dude with a 70's stache jumping around, and gay men. Gay men love that song; at least, in my experience they do. They get all, "Girlfriend!!" over it. Oh yes, that's what they do. Halleluiah, it's raining men, alright.

I am currently in the midst of a battle of the wills. My sister's cat Riley is trying to assert his control over my room, and I am fighting him off the best I can. He figured out how to open my bedroom door the other night; he can open the doorknob like a raptor can. Then once he is inside, he bangs around through the vertical blinds and jumps on my feet and basically annoys the crap out of me. He also jumps onto my desk when I am working and rubs against my computer so I can't see what I am doing. He has pulled carpet up with his claws, and works hard to intimidate Malcolm by getting right in his face and hissing at him. Luckily, Malcolm has started taking a hard approach to this battle, and has begun growling and snarling back at him. Riley also has tried to thwart my efforts at preparing a sanitary meal sans cat hair by jumping up on the counter while I am either pouring cereal in the morning or making a salad at night. Trish has noticed that he only does this stuff when I am home, which leads me to believe he has some sort of issue with me. Well, young master Riley, I will not be bowed so easily, and neither will my worthy comrade, Malcolm. We're gonna win this one.

Now that I have talked enough about the cat, I suppose I will move onto the details of the day. I guess it's good to document stuff somewhere, like this blog here. We are doing YET another yard sale this weekend, and I swear to fuck this had better be the last one. Few things make me as bitchy and whiny as a yard sale. I hate the preparation, I hate sitting around my old stuff like a some retarded jackoff, I hate divvying up the money at the end, I hate using the word "divvying" and I hate the clean-up. Plus, I don't even have any used bras or underwear to sell this time, so the comedic element to this sale will be... what? Watching Pedro pile eight pairs of pants on his arm and insist on paying me only 50 cents? Smelling the dirty people that don't wash, ever? Ha, ha, HA.

Also, it rained last night which was cool. Even better was the ORGAN MAN!

Trish and I decided to pay K-Mart a visit last night. We went to this old, derelict K-Mart on McDowell. The kind of K-Mart with the "old doors" that you need to push open and a poorly-lit parking lot reeking of Taco Bell fumes. As Trish and I got out of the car, we heard the unmistakable sounds of an electric organ being played. An older fellow was seated at an upright organ, just playing away. And by organ, I mean one of those things from the 50s that looks like a piano but gets that funky "ba-chicka-ba-chicka-ba-chicka" sound going when you hit a button labeled "Samba" as you play some really scary music over it. It was very independent-movie-like; this old guy with a big bald spot, sitting at the organ outside an almost-empty old K-Mart, the parking lot wet with rain, some man on a payphone over to the right, talking and looking at the organ player every once in awhile, and two Mexican kids climbing onto the coin-operated horse with the chipped paint around its mouth. All backlit by the white fluorescent glow of the K-Mart lights spilling from the windows into the sad, inky night. I wondered why don't I have a video camera (or even better, a video crew) with me precisely for times like that.

Which brings me to a point: if and when I ever get "money" I want to invest in something. Investing seems to be where it's at.

When I got back from lunch just now, I was so happy because Trish had sent me an e-mail telling me that television is going to give Chris Elliott another chance at comedic wonderfulness. Here is what Variety says about it:

Chris Elliott is getting ready to tackle fatherhood with Regency Television and 20th Century Fox TV. The comic thesp will write, exec produce and star in a half-hour comedy in which he plays a married father of two teen daughters living in a small town.

(I couldn't read the whole article because Variety charges you an insane amount of money to do so. But I will find more information in another manner, I assure you.)

The great thing about this news is that it says he will WRITE. We all know what crap can happen to good comedians when they are not in charge of the writing. Take Chris and Janeane, when they were on SNL about 10 years ago and how horribly the writers mistreated them by not playing to their specific talents. I remember vowing never to watch SNL again after that disasterous season. I went back thanks to the appeal of Will Ferrell and Cheri Oteri (who Trish agrees with me was way more talented than Molly Shannon, but that's just our 'pinions). But still... what Chris Elliott does best is create really weird and unique stuff if he is allowed to create it. I am overwhelmed with joy that he might be able to bring a little of his signature wit to a very dull and boring network TV landscape.

This weekend, rather than seeing "Vanity Fair", I ended up seeing "Napoleon Dynamite." It was funny, but I was vaguely disturbed by the house Napoleon lived in. All that paneling and the old phones and weird furniture-- what is it called when you are weirded-out by furniture? I am sure that there has to be a name for what I feel. I am just too lazy to look it up at the moment. Also, I don't know what the deal was with the scene of Napoleon and Pedro tasting the milk and saying the problems with the milk: "This tastes like ammonia," etc. They never explained what that scene meant. No mention or reference was made to it later on. I thought that was a might bit peculiar. Yet, I accepted it, because that is what you are called on to do, as a moviegoer. I accept anything, sure.

Why do some people have the most annoying cell phone rings? Why choose the entire score to "Dr. Zhivago" as your ring? Why, if you do choose to go annoying, do you set the volume at the highest decibal level? Do you have a desire to alienate yourself from the normal folk? Do you have a deathwish? Do you want me to smack you? Because I am telling you right now... I will. I am very handy with a good smack now and again.

I wish this blog were a little more exciting, relevant and witty. I think I have brain problems.

I once described the admiration of beautiful men from afar as being akin to gazing at works of art in a museum. This weekend, I feel like going to the museum.

So I am thinking about going to see "Vanity Fair" this weekend. This movie features one of the prettiest dudes ever, in my book. Jonathan Rhys-Myers. I have seen almost everything he's ever been in, often renting stuff when no one else was home; ordering rare movies off of Amazon, watching them over the course of several days so as to stretch out the loveliness, etc.

The problem is, I am really disappointed in the pictures I have seen from this movie so far. His hair is hideous! The Napoleonic era was really not kind to men's hair. I don't care about historical accuracy, Mr. Movie Hairstylist. Just go with what will accent the actor's sexy little face, you know? There's not a man alive that can look good with hair swept forward like a middle school guidance counselor trying to compensate for a bald spot. Yikes. Why do that to a good looking guy, on the big screen? I don't know. Maybe someone out there disagrees and thinks this hair looks good, but it ain't me. Nope.

Well, anyway, in other news, I sure hope things get better in Haiti.

Have I ever mentioned that I tend to be lame?

Well, I do. This morning I am working on editing and writing a legal document (soooo not what I was hired to do and so far out of my skill level), and I am working on a part that pertains to cookies that our company sends to the computers of the people who did business with our company. Some of the wording is: "...check the help menu of your browser to change your cookie preferences" and "If you reject all cookies..."

I remember when, not too long ago, I changed my cookie preference. I have always been a chocolate chip girl, and one day I switched to Oreos. Just like that. There was no warning to my chocolate chip tastebuds. I apologized to my sense of taste for the switch, but it turned out there were no hard feelings and my palate immediately approved of the change in preference.

Even more recently, I have begun to reject all cookies. I truly don't eat cookies like I used to. I used to get them in Subway or eat a few while I watched a "Friends" re-run after work. These days, the cookies do call to me, but I close my heart and my pudgy hands to them. "No dice." I say. "It's not gonna work," I chide them when they whisper crumbly nothings in my direction. "Get thee behind me, Fudgy!" I sneer derisively. For, I have rejected cookies.

(See? Told you I was lame. Like Cartman would say it: "LAME!")

I had to walk to the little market next door to our apartment complex this morning to buy milk so I could enjoy tasty cereal before my workday began. As I was walking over there, I passed a bus that was sitting at a bus stop. No one was on the bus, but it was running. The woman driver was sitting in the driver's seat, doing her makeup. She had a powder compact and was powdering her cheeks. Suddenly she sneezed, and from my vantage point, it really looked like she sneezed directly into her compact. Then she continued to apply the powder. What the hell is this world coming to?

I am seeing things out of the corner of my eye that appear to be people walking past the office window. However, there have been no people walking there. It is a very nice, windy day, and sometimes I think what I am seeing is tree branches swaying into an area that my peripheral vision is not used to seeing things in. Anyway, it's making me a little nuts, because I am Easy Distracted Girl as it is, but everytime I see this "something" moving in the window, I have to stop what I am doing and look. It's quite frustrating, actually.

I went to see "Hero" this weekend, and I did like it, but I have to say I wasn't overly impressed with it. Probably because I was more pre-occupied with thinking about how much work must have gone into each shot. I tend to ruin perfectly good movies like this sometimes. I picture the set designer lighting all the candleflames at the King's feet in his palace, or the costume person carefully arranging the gauzy flow of the sleeves of the pretty dresses the ladies wore. That scene where Jet Li's character had the sword fight on the water surface with Broken Sword was pretty impressive, but I couldn't stop thinking about how they probably had to shoot one toe-touch-to-the-water at a time. They'd shoot one scene, and have to stop and WAIT a really long time for the water to go back to calm-surface and then they would shoot one more. I bet that one scene took months. I did like this movie, and I recommend it, especially if you appreciate good cinematography. Don't be like me, though: drink before you go so you are relaxed and ready to watch, not think.

I keep forgetting to write about this, but I finally remembered so here goes:
Scene: Kristen's wedding, September 5.
My outfit: Satin and lace dress, very pretty, sleeveless. When I got chilly, I put on a black wool-blend sweater from H&M.
What I saw when I got back to the hotel room and was changing into pajamas: My armpits, covered in wooly blackness! Apparently, my sweater was "shedding" as I wore it, and heavy black lint accumulated in my armpits over the course of the evening. It looked like I was an ape under my arms. No wonder no guys asked me to dance as I got drunk! I was probably waving my arms around on the dancefloor and scarin' away the menfolk. This is just.my.luck.

What a great time to be a headline copywriter! The fact that Hurricane Ivan didn't do substantial damage to New Orleans has resulted in the following "clever" (note use of quotes) headlines in recent days in major media outlets:

The Big Easy Breathes Easy

Easy Does It: New Orleans Goes Unscathed

The Big Easy is a Great Place to Find Underage Hookers Unscathed by Hurricane's Wrath

(The last one may or may not have been written somewhere.)

I think people are always disappointed on some level when things like hurricanes leave cities "unscathed". It's a huge part of human nature to sort of want to see tragedy, want to see people homeless or drowned in the swollen banks of a river or something similarly tragic. I remember just a few days ago the headlines were hollerin' about how New Orleans could be 20 feet underwater. Wow! How very Day After Tomorrow. New Orleans had a very real chance of being brushed with the fame of young up and comer Jake Gyllenhaal. Perhaps a pack of wolves would ride into the city on a tidal wave of horror and eat the survivors of the Big Easy Flood! Wow! WOW!

But... it didn't happen. New Orleans was fine and survived with "just a few leaves in the pool." "Damn!" said our collective mean-spirited unconscious.

Now we have to cross our fingers and hope--quietly, to ourselves-- that Hurricane Jeanne will cause massive disaster and havoc if it comes ashore, as promised by oiled, feverish weather forecasters, " as early as this weekend." Sure hope so! Bring on the plywood and the displaced pets and babies! "Someone left the baby in the shed, we have to go back!" "No, there's no time! We have to save ourselves! Ahhh!!!"

So they have these things called "Housebreaking pads" for dogs. You're supposed to use them to teach dogs to go to the bathroom in one specific spot, instead of letting them run amok, pissing on your shag carpet, your new shoes or on Aunt Ouisa, who is paralyzed from the nose down. I bought some of these delightul pads today because I am changing up my old dog's routine, and I know he is used to going outside whenever he wanted all day long, and now he is forced to only go out 3-4 times whenever I am home. This is a safeguard for him, and for our security deposit when we leave the apartment.

The thing that is weird about these pads is that they all claim to be "scientifically proven to attract dogs." It made me think of scientists that are obsessed with figuring out what makes a dog crap in one spot over another. Someone, somewhere, had to do some sort of probability work on gravel vs. grass. Someone had to follow dogs around and log the results into his little chart, which was later worked into a handsome Bell curve. Another reason I am grateful I was never good at the math; I was automatically out of the running for the jobs like this. As much as I love dogs, dude, I don't love them that much that I would want to attract them to poop.

I read a story today somewhere on the internet about a guy that was leaving envelopes with money inside it outside this woman's apartment. Besides the money, inside the envelope was a request for her soiled underpants. About three or four of these requests--and lots of dollars-- appeared before the woman's husband got pretty upset and I guess, they are in the process of arresting the requester. But maybe this guy who wants soiled underpants of this particular lady is not so dangerous. Maybe he is just a scientist, working on a very scientific, elaborate and proven way to attract this woman to leave her underpants with him after she wears them. It's a thought, anyway.

In other news, I am obsessed with two things at the moment. One is sleeping. My bed feels really nice right about now, as I am fighting off some mysterious illness. The other is the soundtrack to Garden State. I bought 4 CDs while on my New Jersey trip, and I seriously haven't listened to the other 3 yet because I just keep hitting play on this same CD over and over again. I can't really say what is so mesmerizing here, as it is relatively "harmless" music and does not challenge me from a musical theory angle in any way. I think it just brings back the movie, and how I miss the character of NJ itself. Some of the songs are extremely fitting-- both to the plot of the movie, and to my thought processes right now.

I haven't seen NBC's "Joey" yet. Wonder what I could be missing...! Hmmm. Wow. Um, nope!

Just as a personal note to myself, posted in a place where I know I will look at some point soon: check into renting Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. You know you will like it. You just happened to miss it in theaters, that's all. Go see "Hero" already. Also, make a point of seeing "Resident Evil 2: Apocalypse" because you know you will also like that one, based on how freaked out you got when you watched the first one. And watch both Kill Bill movies, in a row, very soon. You need the swords and stuff. That's it. And floss, you moss-mouthed motherfucker!

Moving is not fun. I just did it on Saturday and it went well enough-- actually it all happened relatively quickly and stuff. I just don't enjoy the whole waking-up-and-not-knowing-where-you-are-right-away feeling. Also, I miss the dogs. Callie doesn't live with me anymore and that is tough to handle. I need the slobber and the loud noises, I guess. And I am slowly easing Malcolm into moving over to the apartment and into the company of two strange little cats. Yesterday I stayed home from work sick (killer headache and sor throat) and I brought Malcolm over to the new place for a few hours. One of Trish's cats was like, "Hey, what the hell are you, let me sniff you, come on, let me get close-- no? Okay." The other cat hid under her bed and wouldn't come out for nuthin. Malcolm, meanwhile, shook and panted and was generally stressed out. His heart was pounding and he wouldn't make eye contact with the friendly cat. I ended up bringing him back to the house he is familiar with for one more night. However, tonight I would really like him to be with me because you know, I miss my little dog.

Enough on that stuff! I just ate a half-melted Giardelli chocolate square I bought on my lunch hour. Even though the drive from the store back to work is literally only 2 minutes long, the chocolate fucking melted. That's how hot it is these days. I have been thinking a lot about the sun. For instance, this morning I came out of the apartment and was met with a wall of white light. I forgot who I was as I stumbled to the dumpster to throw away some common trash. My mind was wiped clean in my squinting. No thoughts, logic or motor skills. I was blinded and blanked.

Also, the fact that you aren't supposed to look directly at the sun is freaky. The other day I swear I didn't mean to look at it, but I was glancing in that direction to see something else and I accidently looked right into it. Now I fear I have permanent corneal damage, and I will never be a beauty pageant winner. Well, that might possibly be unrelated, seeing as how I never enter any beauty pageants in the first place and hence, cannot possibly be a winner. But anyway...

I seriously can't focus my brain to think one cohesive sentence today. Maybe there was something in that chocolate. And that something was probably MAGIC!

I hate magic. I hate magicians. I hate Doug Henning. Isn't he dead? I think he died. What about Yanni and Gallagher, his lookalike brothers of varying talent? Are they in respiratory distress or anything? And if not, is there anything I can do to expedite the process? Magicians are all into tomfoolery and hokum, and they need to settle down and get sensible shoes and decent jobs with 401K plans. Life is more than a dove in your sleeve, son. The sooner you learn that, the sooner we can help you break that nasty habit of wanting to saw women in two.

I've got an overstimulated life right now. So very much going on in my head. I am moving on the day after tomorrow, so I spent most of last night packing and organizing my stuff for the move exactly one mile down the road from where I live right now.

Taking the trip to NJ was a very good thing for me. For one, it seemed to have stirred my creativity awake. And it happened very easily and sweetly. I had so many wonderful sense-ticklers while walking around under the trees and feeling the wind. One of my favorites was when my Dad and I took a walk on the Henry Hudson trail (...Henry Hudson did not walk this trail or anything like that; it's just a paved bike and walking path) with his two dogs and talked about pretty much nothing but dogs and trains, oddly enough. The path used to be a train track. It was so cool just walking on a Sunday morning with dogs and my Dad, feeling a little chilly at first but then getting warmer as we walked. I would definitely like to do that more often, if I could.

When Trish, Kane and I went down to the Spy House one night, it was weird because it was high tide and the beach near the east side of the pier was underwater completely. The water of the bay was creeping up the wooden steps, so part of them were underwater. It looked eerie, and I started imagining an ocean zombie walking straight up out of the water and up those stairs. That salty light mist that coats your hair and clothes; the way the jersey kids all came down to the pier together in a big group to laugh and bullshit and the way that they didn't say anything snotty about us as they passed us (like spoiled Scottsdale kids are prone to doing)... it all felt so familiar and comfortable. NJ isn't always pretty, and sometimes it is downright gross, but there are times where I would happily trade the sterilized stucco and carefully-planted palm trees of Arizona for it.

It is good to be back and planning nothing but positive things, though. And seeing my dog again. When we were in Newark airport, wasting time before our flight home, I was looking at this sling that you put over your shoulder so your small dog can ride at hip-level in the Discovery Channel store. I decided I didn't really need it, even though it had a zebra-print liner and everything and Malcolm happens to have a zebra-print collar. Well, when I wasn't looking my Mom bought it for me. When I got home I put Malcolm in it and he actually liked it. He usually hates things like that and fidgets uncomfortably. I don't think he likes being treated like a small dog. But this time, he settled in and let me walk all over like that. He even started to close his eyes. And in the meantime, I am enjoying being able to say I am going to put his ass in a sling.

Also, I should mention the fucking cool wedding. It was hands-down the coolest wedding I have ever been to. Kristen and Ezzy were so genuinely happy and giddy to be getting married-- normally, people are all nervous and stoic while saying the vows, perhaps allowing a small, shy-like smile to show while they are talking. Ezzy was flat-out beaming the biggest smile I have ever seen on a dude. Kristen was laughing while she lit the unity candle and making silly faces to the crowd so we were all laughing. They had fun up there, even though the setting was very traditionally romantic and wedding-beautiful (they were married outside, alongside a little lake with swans and fountains on a pretty, breezy afternoon), and it was great to be so excited for the couple. I loved how they didn't drop their personalities for the occassion. The reception was fun, the people from NY were very friendly and fun to meet, and thank god, there was no Funky Chicken or YMCA. Overall, you guys get an A+.

I have added a solid item to my Most Hated Things list, however: the middle seat on the plane. I sat in between my Mom and some stranger for both flights on this trip, and it about made me psychotic. I found myself pulling my elbows in the entire 4+ hour flight so I wouldn't bump either of them and it really hurt after awhile. I hate that there is nowhere to slump if you want to sleep. I am a fan of the ole' window seat, personally, and will hold my bladder a whole flight in exchange for the opportunity to slump up against the window with my music playing as I daydream. And then be able to fall asleep without anyone nudging me awake to go to the bathroom, or, in the case of the woman on the return flight, to walk laps on the plane to avoid "leg blood clots." It took her goddamn forever to sit her ass back down, which meant I sat uneasily for a whole 20 minutes or so, because I didn't want to settle back in and go back into reading my book (the new S.E. Hinton "adult" novel) because I knew the minute I did she would return and want to sit down-- damn, that's enough of 1) flying coach and 2) the fucking middle seat!

At the moment I am sitting at my Dad's computer, stuffed to capacity on Olive Garden. I come all the way to NJ, and where do we eat with the family? You guessed it, the place where when we are There, We are Family. The way my Oma misunderstood the check and the way we all began talking loudly about different races really hammered the "we're family" thing home, and I think we have Olive Garden to thank for that.

Yes, NJ has been lots of fun so far, but it's also been damn busy! All the hustle and bustle of the Tri-State area has me all a-twitter, I tell you. Seriously, for the first two days I was operating on about three hours of sleep that I had on Tuesday. Run, run, run. On Thursday morning we drove up to Bayonne to see Kristen and Ezzy, and Ezzy took us into the city by bus because I had an interview for a possible future job at a publishing company. Kane and Trish hung out with him at some pub on 55th street while I was interviewing. Afterwards, I called and tried to locate them at said pub. I had to walk over there. However, I am sort of backwards when it comes to "left" and "right"... I actually do better if you say, "head east, west, north or south." I got totally fucking lost. I ended up wandering up 55th street in the wrong direction, and all the sudden looked up and found myself in a swarm of cops, dark limos and Secret Service guys. I literally walked right into a quadranted-off area where Bush was staying at the St. Regis hotel. Zoinks! I quickly hurried along up towards Madison, and realized I was nowhere near where this bar was supposed to be. I called Ezzy back and he told me to go back the way I came. So I had to walk back through all the Secret Service dudes again. At the time, I had a nondescript backpack on my back and was having trouble walking in my interview heels. So here I go, walking right past them all again, talking on my cell phone saying, 'Yeah, I am going in the wrong direction, glad you told me to go the right way." As I was saying it, I got paranoid that what I was saying might sound like some bizarro Black Widow code-speak for suicide bombing. I glanced over my shoulder and saw confirmation: I was actually being tailed by a guy with a wire in his ear! It was really exciting and really movie-like for me. I loved looking over my shoulder and seeing a real Secret Service guy walking right behind me, eyes on me. Me! But then I got a little scared and walked faster, and by the time I crossed Fifth and looked back, he was still on the other side of the street. You know something-- I really don't care about this election anymore, nor do I want to see the stupid President anymore this year-- he went past my job in Phoenix twice, his motorcade blocked our cab in Atlanta when I was there for a bus convention, and now this-- I am getting tired of the man being everywhere I am anymore. This RNC shit is ENOUGH now, so I have nothing to say about it at the moment. I've got more important things to do, I thought, and headed towards that pub for an afternoon drink. (I finally found the pub and enjoyed a rum and coke while loud firemen and construction-type men talked in outdoor voices all around us.)

I am rocking out to Rachael Yamagata at the moment. Not bad. Not bad at'tall.

Oh, and the interview went well even though I was a spazz and left extra resume copies back in Arizona. And I was sweaty as a little bitch from the walk from the subway, which made me 4 minutes late for the interview. Talk about stress. I can't believe I was interviewing at one of the biggest publishing companies in the entire world and I was late. Ay de mi.

New York rocked, by the way. We were mostly in the Village and we had so much fun just wandering everywhere and eating good New York pizza and enjoying milkshakes. I am about 18 pounds heavier than I was on Wednesday morning when I left. Christ, it is all about eating on these trips. It has to end somewhere--- and it probably will end in me getting diverticulitis. Look it up.

The other night we were eating Chinese food with my Dad and his wife, and the lady at the next table was fucking hilarious. She was loudly talking about the most random things, and she had that whole post-menopausal "of course I am right about a lot of things, so naturally I will run my mouth off about those things" attitude going on. She mentioned Ouija boards, Methodists, voodoo and "Dixiecrats" in the same sentence. Kane and I were the only ones really trying to listen, I think, and we were having fun quietly exchanging looks and laughing at this lady's strange conversation with a guy who was, apparently, comatose. He never seemed to say anything as this woman yammered on like a jackass.

Tricia and I are having fun giving Kane the tour of NJ. It has been awesome weather, too-- perfect for driving around and walking all over the place. We are cold all the time though, since our blood is now used to the pussy-warm falls and winters in Phoenix. Such little bitches. You know something, "pussy-warm" is, in retrospect, a little more graphic than I was going for. I would go back and change it to some other adjective, but that would take me too long. So you are just going to have to take pussy-warm and you are going to have to accept it.

We met up with my uncles Ed and Snake down at the Brothers last night. It was so much fun; my Uncle Snake (Uncle Bob to the layman) surprised us by taking precious time from his Florida lifestyle of avoiding hurricanes to pay us a visit. He's a biker and does nothing but party everyday. My Uncle Ed just had a triple bypass this past year and was recovered nicely. My mom, their sister, was there as well and was not currently recovering from anything or partying. We had a lot of laughs because my Uncle Snake is one of those fun guys who cracks good jokes non-stop and doesn't manage to get annoying with it. We all ended up down at Red Bank Marina, making jokes about buying small children from the families walking around the marina so we could throw them into the river. After a few well-placed hilarious farts from my uncles, we said our goodbyes and were on our separate ways once more. It is always good to catch up with the family, I says.

Tomorrow is the wedding. All I know is, it is very surreal that Kristen is getting married and will soon have a husband. That wigs me out. I also get a little wigged out by my Oma asking how old Kristen is (same age as me) and then saying, "It's interesting that women are getting married so much older these days. We used to get married when we were young." So, in essence, I am no longer "young" and if and when I ever do get married, I will be marrying "much older." Hmm.

Oh, and last night me, Trish and Kane saw "Garden State" at the Atlantic Highlands movie theater. That place is so awesome. The movie was great too. It was fitting we saw that movie while we were in the Garden State, we thought. We are also dorks in many ways, but never you mind that. I loved the movie anyway.

This trip has been fun so far, and I look forward to doing more of this NJ/NY stuff more often sometime in the future. For the moment though, I miss Malcolm so I must leave soon and fetch my glorious canine once more.

Oooh, good song: "Wooden Nickels" by The Eels. It's on my Dell DJ at the moment, and I have to go now and savor this. Fare thee well!