This is the next CD I am psyched about: Where's Neil When You Need Him?

A variety of bands and singers (including Hungry Lucy) were asked to write a song about their favorite Neil Gaiman story or character. The cool thing is that not everyone wrote about Death or the other Sandman characters, from the look of the track listing. There's songs about characters in MirrorMask, Stardust, Mr. Punch and other cool stories. Of course I ordered it already. Of course.

I'll attempt to write another blog soon. These are busy days. I hate it. I want nothing to do. I'm too good for this tedious "work" and "productivity." Bah.

In case you don't already know, I am fascinated by whales. And dolphins. But I think whales are awesome. I have always wanted to see one in the wild, and I hope to do so someday. Either on a whale-watching tour or just standing on a beach.

I grew up right near the ocean, and spent my youngest years in Atlantic Highlands. What an awesome town. If you drove five minutes down the road from my house, you'd be at the ocean's edge. Climb over the hill across from our house and you'd have a great view of the bay and the skyline of New York City. Of course, as a kid and up until I moved away, I took all of that for granted, for the most part. I did always love to go to a marina or a beach and just sit and watch the water for a long time. I had an overactive imagination and used to imagine that the sound I heard in the car when we drove over a bridge's metal grates was actually mermaids talking in their weird mer-language. I'd think that certain waves breaking out around the rocks and shoals were fins of sharks, whales and of course, mermaids. I think I was sort of fixated on the mermaid thoughts for awhile there. I blame Splash. Damn you, Splash. And damn you too, Ariel.

Anyway, right up until I moved and every time I go back home for a visit, I love to search the ocean for a whale. My usual spot to do this is from the Route 36 bridge that goes over the river and bay near Sandy Hook into Sea Bright. (I'm banking on a lot of Jerseyites to read this to know where I'm talking about) When you go over that bridge, you have a really great view of the horizon and ocean for miles and miles. It's beautiful any time of the year. I was obsessed with scanning the water for a fin or maybe a breaching whale. Every single day, driving down to campus when I was in college, I'd slow down as I went over the bridge and drive the other drivers nuts. Just so I could maybe spot a whale.

And damn it anyway. I never did.

Well, today I was wandering through links as I wasted some time before a meeting and found the cool story of James Bartley. He was a whaler who was actually swallowed by a whale and lived. I didn't think it could be true, but I found the story in several places and it seems to have been documented pretty well. I can't really relate it well enough to do it justice, so here is a copy of the most complete account.

Check this shit out:

The whaling ship Star of the East, was in the vicinity of the Falkland Islands, searching for whales, which were very scarce. One morning the lookout sighted a whale about three miles away on the starboard quarter. Two boats were manned. In a short time one of the boats was near enough to enable the harpooner to send a spear into the whale, which proved to be an exceedingly large one. With the shaft in his side, the animal sounded and then sped away, dragging the boat after him with terrible speed. He swam straight away about five miles, when he turned and came back almost directly towards the spot where he had been harpooned. The second boat waited for him, and when but a short distance from it he rose to the surface. As soon as his back showed above the surface of the water the harpooner in the second boat drove another spear into him. The pain apparently crazed the whale, for it threshed about fearfully, and it was feared that the boats would be swamped and the crews drowned. Finally the whale swam away, dragging the two boats after him. He went about three miles and sounded or sank, and his whereabouts could not be exactly told. The lines attached to the harpooners were slack, and the harpooners began slowly to draw them in and coil them in the tubes. As soon as they were tauten, the whale arose to the surface and beat about with its tail in the maddest fashion. The boats attempted to get beyond the reach of the animal, which was apparently in its death agonies, and one of them succeeded, but the other was less fortunate. The whale struck it with his nose and upset it. The men were thrown into the water, and before the crew of the other boat could pick them up one man drowned and James Bartley had disappeared. When the whale became quiet from exhaustion the waters were searched for Bartley, but [he] could not be found; and under the impression that he had been struck by the whale's tail and sunk to the bottom, the survivors rowed back to the ship.

The whale was dead, and in a few hours the great body was lying by the ship's side, and the men ere busy with axes and spades cutting through the flesh to secure the fat. They worked all day and part of the night. They resumed operations the next forenoon, and were soon down to the stomach, which was to be hoisted to the deck. The workmen were startled while labouring to clear it and to fasten the chain about it to discover something doubled up in it that gave spasmodic signs of life. The vast pouch was hoisted to the deck and cut open, and inside was found the missing sailor, doubled up and unconscious. He was laid out on the deck and treated to a bath of sea-water, which soon revived him, but his mind was not clear, and he was placed in the captain's quarters, where he remained to [sic] weeks a raving lunatic. He was carefully treated by the captain and officers of the ship, and he finally began to get possession of his senses. At the end of the third week he had finally recovered from the shock, and resumed his duties.

During the brief sojourn in the whale's belly, Bartley's skin, where it was exposed to the action of the gastric juices, underwent a striking change. His face and hands were bleached to a deadly whiteness, and the skin was wrinkled giving the man the appearance of having been parboiled. Bartley affirms that he would probably have lived inside his house of flesh until he starved, for he lost his senses through fright and not from lack of air. He says that he remembers the sensation of being lifted into the air by the nose of the whale and of dropping into the water. Then there was a frightful rushing sound, which he believed to be the beating of the water by the whale's tail, then he was encompassed by a fearful darkness, and he felt himself slipping along a smooth passage of some sort that seemed to move and carry him forward. This sensation lasted but an instant, then he felt that he had more room. He felt about him, and his hands came in contact with a yielding slimy substance that seemed to shrink from his touch. It finally dawned upon him that he had been swallowed by a whale, and he was overcome by horror at the situation. He could breath, but the heat was terrible. It was not of a scorching, stifling nature, but it seemed to draw out his vitality. He became very weak, and grew sick at the stomach. He knew that there was no hope of escape from his strange prison. Death stared him in the face, and he tried to look at it bravely but the awful quiet, the fearful darkness, the horrible knowledge of his environments, and the terrible heat finally overcame him, and he must have fainted, for the next he remembered was being in the captain's cabin.

Bartley is not a man of a timid nature, but he says that it was many weeks before he could pass a night without having his sleep disturbed with harrowing dreams of angry whales and the horrors of his fearful prison. The skin on the face and hands of Bartley has never recovered its natural appearance. It is yellow and wrinkled, and looks like old parchment. The health of the man does not seem to have been affected by his terrible experience. He is in splendid spirits, and apparently fully enjoys all the blessings of life that come his way. The whaling captains say that they never remember a parallel case to this before. They say that it frequently happens that men are swallowed by whales who become infuriated by pain of the harpoon and attack the boats, but they have never known a man to go through the ordeal that Bartley did and come out alive.

--M. dePaville, Journal des Debats

Isn't that a weird story? I love it!

Ah, the roller derby. This picture is over a week old, but I am in a picture-posting mood. This was how my sister, Brianna and Robert looked as we stood on the sidelines at the Derb. Very exciting, is it not? Unfortunately I did not catch any derby action because the place was packed and I could not get a good shot from where we were standing (we couldn't even score a seat it was so crowded).

I was wishing I was 10 again. Today is my best friend's birthday. Well, she is my oldest friend anyway, and the only person besides Greg and my sister that I consider a best friend. I met her when we were 10, in fifth grade. I liked her hair (she was wearing it in a bun that day... what, was I some sort of bun-worshipper or something?) and she thought I looked nice. I gave her a colored paperclip, and now 21 years later we are still giving each other things. She just sent me two CDs for my birthday (Shemekia Copeland, Sigur Ros) and I sent her something, too, only I won't say what I sent because the bitch might read this.

What I loved about being 10 was not having a job!

Fucking A. Wasn't that the total shit? Not having to do this crap everyday? Not worrying about taxes, car registration, all that? Man. And the thing is we didn't appreciate what we had when we were that age. So STUPID! Ten year olds, wake up and appreciate it. Right now. If you are 10 and reading this right now, don't. Turn it off and go outside or something. You shouldn't sit in front of a computer until you are forced to write a paper in high school. Until then, keep it far away for this beastly machine will become your warden in the future. You will be forced to stay with it for up to 8 tortuous hours a day. You'll find yourself addicted to it for god awful reasons, and you'll be drawn to starting your own ghastly thing called a "MySpace Profile." SHUDDER. Run. Go now. You are young! Your legs WILL carry you! FLEE!!

Kristen and I did some fun stuff as kids. For some reason as I think of her birthday today, I recall being in her family's spa that was next to the pool, and turning the bubbles up high and then floating around in there with just our faces above the foaming water as we recited the following: "There's eye of newt in there, tree mold, old lizard brains and scales from a rancid sea serpent!" We pretended we were in the witch's brew.

These days? I don't pretend I am in a witch's brew so much. Wonder why that is.

Maybe I need some witch friends. Or a huge pot that I can boil water in. And then sit in it. And burn myself. And cry. And end up scarred. All because I wanted to be in a goddamned witch's brew again. Now I just look like a person with a severe mental disorder. Who sits in a boiling pot of water to re-enact a childhood memory? ASSHOLES. That's who. I'd be an asshole. A scalded, whimpering asshole.

SEE?

THIS is the curse of being an adult! You immediately jump to the burning, the screaming, the scarring. As a kid, you just jump the hell in and enjoy it.

At least, now that I have a pool, I can play mermaid again. So there. That's something.

And this time I WON'T tie my feet together and have that panicky moment when I realized I couldn't untie them and I was sinking in the deep end. At least experience has taught me that little lesson. No one has to know I'm playing it, either, it'll all be in my head, la dee da, hmm hmm hmm. I'm a mermaid, la la la.

Better leave me alone, though. Mermaids rape.

I never said I was a normal kid.

New Yorkers are NOT rude! Here's an article that says so.

This study makes me very happy. It validates what I have always thought was true-- that people in NY and, yes, I am throwing NJ into the mix here, too, are actually pretty nice people. I can say with all honesty that living in Arizona has been a huge wake-up call. I've encountered more rude people, terribly inconsiderate drivers and nasty behavior here than I ever did back there. When I go back to visit, I feel so much more at-ease. People WILL hold doors for you, or look you in the eye and say hello. Not as much here.

You'd think that with the sunshine and the palm trees, mountains, blue skies and low taxes people would be happier in Arizona. That's what I thought it would be like! I expected a slower-paced, friendlier and more laid-back kind of life when I moved here. It turned out to be more stressful, much more rushed and impersonal, and kind of bitter. I thought I was the only one who felt this way until I talked to other transplants who were harboring the same opinions of life here. Maybe the constant heat and glaring sun wear a person down, naturally. After all, we weren't designed to live in the middle of a desert. That's why no one lived here until water was piped in and air conditioning was standard. We need clouds. We need rain.

No kidding: about three times a week, I experience drivers who speed up rather than let me into their lane, and then give me the finger when they drive past. I curse, yell and scream in frustration, even though it really has become routine and I am used to it in some sick way. People--especially wealthy-looking men and women-- do not hold doors open for you or thank you if you hold one open for them. Everywhere I go I hear loud Spanish speakers who scream out to their friends and family members right in your face as you are trying to navigate around a store or restaurant; kids are allowed to just do whatever they want and parents don't seem to care. Just last night, my Mom and I went out to dinner and I witnessed a little girl climb up on a counter near the door and pull down the "Win a Free Lunch" box and reach in and take out the business cards that had been dropped in there and carry them away, tossing some onto the floor. Her mother just said in a quiet voice, "Oh, honey, that's not good," and that was it. Didn't make her put them back! Grrrr! Can I just kick people at random? Please?

Well, I just want to congratulate the New Yorkers for doing what they do. You're good people. I miss you so very much. When I get back there, let's go over to some little bar, have a beer and some laughs. It's all good.

Here it is, several days late. (Yeah, it's late--whatever, shut up! I was busy.)

I know you're thinking that this is a CHARMING hat. I suppose it is. Look at those shells and such!

But here's the thing: This is not just a picture of a retard in a cowboy hat. It's also a picture of a retard in a cowboy hat who is quite suspicious of the small palm trees lurking nearby. Never trust a palm tree. Think about how many people have died because of palm trees!

Yeah. It's a lot of people. Millions, probably.

We almost lost Keith Richards when he fell outta one. Maybe I should put on my hat, go out there and beat the shit out of those trees so no one else gets hurt. After all, our yard is a veritable playground of craggy old rock stars.

I gotta go; Frampton just "came alive" in our flower bed. Quick, get the hose, that's gonna kill the hibiscus!

Note to Dustin Diamond: Go get a real job!

So in case you haven't heard The Big News, our old friend Screech has hit a rough financial patch. The bank is going to foreclose on his $250,000 house, and to raise money to save his house, DD is selling T-shirts. Check out his website here and if the mood strikes you, buy a T-shirt.

I read the story he has there, and I can see he kind of got screwed a little bit by the financial guy and whatever the deal was with his land contract. But who hasn't been screwed? Who doesn't need money to fix something in their lives? No one I know. I'm not sure I feel like doling out $15 (or $20 for an autographed one) for a T-shirt to save some actor's house. I'd rather give my money to someone or some charity that really could use it. An actor who can't pay a mortgage? No. Not today.

On some level, I can applaud his entrepreneurial spirit and creativity. Also, the fact that he is getting so much publicity for his idea. He's getting talked about, his website is getting hits, and this has to be more attention he's had in years. (Didn't he beat up the guy from "Welcome Back Kotter" or something in a "Boxing Match of the TV Nerds" show?) And listen up, Screeech-with-3-e's-to-get-around-the-copyright-law: if you click back here and saw that I gave you a link from my very popular blog, you better remember me in your will or at least give me a shout-out somewhere. The Armsweat wants something for nothing much, too.

Or maybe I can just concede that the t-shirt thing is totally a fantastic idea and create my own. See, I have a problem that I need money to fix. It's my worn-down teeth.

I don't have bum teeth, or yellow, mossy teeth or anything like that. In fact, all my life I have nice teeth with very few minor cavities. However, I am a person prone to stress, and it turns out that for most of my teenage years and adult life, I have been grinding my teeth in my sleep. Not just regular grinding; this was hard-core, take the enamel right off my teeth grinding going on. My NJ dentist never really brought it up, which still pisses me off to this day. After I moved, a dentist told me about the severity of the problem by showing me pictures of normal molars and then showing me my x-rays to show that my teeth were about 2/3 shorter and flatter than normal teeth. I got a fancy biteguard to wear at night, and have worn it every single night since, but my teeth are STILL getting smaller and softer. There's no enamel left and no grooves to speak of. Just flat cow-teeth.

Here's where the I Need Money Thing comes in: the dentist told me that someday I was going to have to get crowns on those teeth since the damage wasn't going to fix itself. Normal eating and stuff would wear them down even more. I know the day is fast approaching where I need to go in and do this thing. My poor back teeth are not looking well. I don't want to do it, but I am going to have to go see someone and get them taken care of. Even though I have dental insurance, crowns and stuff like that still cost a lot of money. Plus, I need to go somewhere that has the sedation option because I've also developed a HUGE fear of the dentist in the last couple of years. I can't even think about having work done while I am awake. And insurance definitely doesn't cover sedation for things like crowns. So that's more money.

I will make some teeth shirts (ha ha ha ha) that say "Give Money to the Crown and Sedation Fund" and spell my name with two i's on the back of the shirt to get around copyrights on the name Lisa. On the front there will be a picture of my gross, spitty teeth and a sad clown. Why a sad clown? Why the fuck not, I say. Sad clowns need to come back into style, and I am starting the trend, damn it. Someone call Howard Stern so I can go talk about this shit.

Well, I'm having some blog difficulties at the moment. For some reason I had a white screen-thing going on yesterday and today; and now, when I attempted to fix the issue, I see it somehow chopped off the end of my last post.

I just figured I'd acknowledge that things are screwy here on Armsweat. Hopefully, later on I can get back here and write a decent post.

I just thought of something--maybe the last post about wanting a baby was cut-off by a higher power. As in, I should just cut this thought mid-thought and move on to other things! No babies right now. No, no, no! Babies are ugly and I don't want any. BLEHH!

I'll just think that for awhile till I believe it.

Oh, and congratulations to Lisa Hansen, who informed us all yesterday on the comments before the page went all white that she and her husband are expecting a little one! That's awesome, Hansen. It also worries me a little, since you know that you are like my long-lost doppelganger or something... what if I CAN'T deny the baby stuff? What if nature pops a surprise by my uterus? Oh no! Well...! Either way, I am happy for you guys and wish you the best.

I said I was going to write a decent post later on, so I better go before THIS becomes the decent post. I hope Blogger will let me post this!

Oh, shit. It turns out I want a baby.

Yeah, it happened not that long ago. I started to notice babies more. Before that, I was always a little indifferent or, on certain days, even annoyed regarding babies. What's the big deal about them, anyway? Big heads, weak necks, no motor skills to speak of, they crap themselves frequently, sleep and cry, and you can't leave them alone for even a minute. Who would want that in their house? Not me!

Well...things change, I guess. Nature kicks in and says, "Do not forsake your maternal instincts, you selfish bitch." I didn't expect it. But I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I am not going to get pregnant. No worries there. I still have this strange fear of getting pregnant. I think it's because in many ways I don't feel older than 18, and I don't want to be a teen mother. Of course, the reality is I am nowhere near 18 and it's more than acceptable to have a baby at my age. In fact, I am late about it according to some sources. Not many sources, however; we 'professional' ladies are waiting quite some time to bring the kids into the picture, if at all. I'm completely typical in this regard.

I doubt I will be really ready for a child for another couple of years. I want to get married and have some time with just my husband first before the screaming/crying/messes/throwing up/no sleep/ huge bills/the stink of baby powder begins. But I have finally accepted that I have become a woman who wants a baby someday.

We're going to adopt, which is awesome in a thousand ways. I've been peeking at some adoption websites and getting that "awwwww!" response thing going on. I find myself looking at the baby clothes section in Target as I walk past it-- I used to walk past it without a glance, but now I glance. And it's always a good time to visit the toy section. I go in there and bitch and whine about how horrible the Bratz dolls are and how "my daughter better NOT want any of this shit." I look at the microscopes and bikes and picture some little girl looking at bugs and rollin' through the neighborhood with training wheels.

So, don't get excited, Mom. No kids for awhile yet. But at least they are on the radar now. I don't know if I am happy

I have been 31 for nine days now, and it's not so bad, really. I have had four birthday dinners, and three instances where I received presents. Nice!

Dinner One was when Greg took me to Pizzeria Bianco in downtown Phoenix. It was apparently voted Best Pizza in the Country by some big magazine like Town and Country or something...I need to stop being lazy and research things like this before I get to my blog. Either way, it is a "much ballyhooed" pizza place. It's in an adorable historic building that used to be a machine shop in the 1900s. Because it's such a sought-after place and the building is so tiny, there is always a wait of about an hour and a half. So we waited. It wasn't too bad, since the restaurant also owned the little cottage next door and made it into a wine bar. Greg and I sat in there and had beers (we're not into the wine so much) and talked until pizza time. And the pizza really WAS delicious, too. I loved it. It was a very lovely way to cap off Gravel Spreading Day, let me tell ya. Pizza, beer and my hot dude!

Dinner Two was with Trish and Greg at My Big Fat Greek Restaurant. It was so Trish and Kane could give me my birthday presents, but then Kane couldn't make it since he was sick. It ended up being the three of us, sitting there eating spanikopita and greek salads and gyros. The wait staff came over and sang some Greek birthday song to me and made me balance a fork on my head. I had to stand there with a fork on my head and they sang, with the whole restaurant staring at me. Good thing I was in a nice mood and not a FUCK OFF! mood; I obliged and was a good sport. It was a fun time.

Are you still reading this? Do you care about dinners Three and Four? Well, in a nutshell, here they are:

3-- at Applebee's, with 7 friends and loved ones. Because the Spaghetti Factory was packed and we couldn't wait an hour and a half to be seated since the plan was to go to the roller derby after dinner. We ended up at Applebee's since we knew we could get in without a wait. It wasn't terrible. I had a great time laughing with everyone and getting some awesome DVDs: The Outsiders (yup, the extended version because I am a dork and I must relive 7th grade obsessions) and Bubba Ho-Tep. We all drove up to the roller derby after that, and it was also packed and we couldn't find parking. It was fun--and there were way more fights than we've seen before in one bout-- but overall I was disappointed with our rollery friends. They raised their ticket prices slightly; there was no live band on the rink like last year; and they had no beer garden even THOUGH the whole thing was sponsored by Pabst BR. Ridiculous! Come on, roller derby, don't start suckin' on me now!

4-- Dinner with Mom at Lo Cascio's italian restaurant. Just the five of us, enjoying us some penne alforno and chicken parmigiana. Very lovely. And the final cap-off my 8 Days of Birthday. It's a personal best; I've never stretched out birthday goodness for such a long period of time before.

Anyway, it was a nice weekend. Greg and I got the gift registry taken care of. If you are already established and have a home, it's not easy to come up with stuff to put on the registry. We're not into a lot of stuff, and we really feel uncomfortable with people spending lots of money on gifts--especially the people who have to pay to fly out here and all that-- so we also wanted to only put cheaper items on the list. But we knew we needed to come up with something to give people an idea of what to get us. It was a challenge to come up with enough things. Weird! I thought I would go wild with the scanner and we'd throw all sorts of elaborate and extraneous things on the list. Overall, we're pleased with the final list for the most part--we did ask for some nice things that we do really need--, and the BIG item we put on there was the Kitchenaid Mixer (in red of course). That mixer is goddamn sweet.

We went swimming yesterday and brought the dogs in the pool. It was fun because Hailie just loved it. She was sitting on the edge of the pool with her tail wagging, watching us swim and finally jumping in when we called her. We made her come in several times in a row so we could teach her where the steps were. She definitely got the hang of it, and you can tell she loves the water. Indy was a challenge--he seems more indifferent to the pool, although he is totally intrigued by Hailie when she goes in or jumps out. He was barking a whole lot more than usual, and running around the pool looking confused. We had to drag him in a few times to also show him how to get out.

Finally it was Malcolm's turn. No big deal there. I carried him around with me, and he seemed to love being in the water and being cool. I floated on my back and balanced him on my stomach and he rode around on me like that for awhile. He wasn't shaking or acting nervous. I had him swim a little, and he did well. I showed him where the steps were and he hopped out all on his own, making me feel a lot better about him being out there. The big challenge for all of them is will they go to the correct spot in the pool to get to the steps... they all want to go right to the edge of pull themselves up and out. Overall, I can't see Malcolm or Indy really going near the edge very much at all. They didn't seem to want to go back in once they got out. Hailie was already standing on the top step, licking the water, this morning when I let her out. It's definitely her thing. I have to take some pictures because she is so adorable out there. Such a good dog.

A great way to end a nice weekend is to get in your PJ's early and curl up on the couch and watch "Airplane"! Honestly, it really is one of the greatest movies EVER made.

"Have you ever seen a grown man naked?"

"I have to go. You can let yourself out the back door, and there's juice in the fridge." (Horse whinny)

I think I am possessed or something. A demon seems to be trying to get out of my skin, and it's trying to exit through the skin on the back of my legs.

It's true...I think. All I know is that I have two mystery scratches just over each ankle on the backs of my legs. I got the first one on my birthday (Gravel Spreading Day). I noticed a sore, burning pain on the back of my leg as I was driving to Einstein's to get some bagels for our crew of helpers. I was surprised to see it was a 3 inch bleeding gash on my leg. ("gash" is overly dramatic, I suppose. Suffice to say it was a scratch/cut. That's better.)

Yesterday I felt the familiar burning pain on the back of my other leg as I was running around doing errands. It felt kind of like when you skin your arm or knee on something. I looked at my leg but didn't see anything there, so I figured it was just a freaky, phantom pain. I don't like those pains...you know, when you are laying in bed and suddenly you get a stabbing pain in your throat that goes away five seconds later, or you think you're having a heart attack because of the sudden piercing pain you feel when you breathe--by the time you sit down somewhere it's completely gone? What IS that, anyway? It's like our bodies get complacent with health and decide to freak out the nerves a little bit and make the guys up in the Pain Response Unit in the brain wake up from their drooling, head-on-control-center-desk naps. Then the body laughs a little, and sits back down to finish its work for the day. "Hooo boy, that was rich," it thinks. "I love freaking those pain guys out!"

Anyway, later on I was watching TV and scraped the spot on the couch. I finally took a good look at it and saw it was yet another long scratch in almost the same spot as it was on the other leg. So strange, because in the case of either scratch, I can't recall backing into anything sharp, getting caught on anything, or having anything sharp run or float up to my legs and cut me. I've long been scared of little homicidal fairies with daggers.

I really can't figure out the mystery source of these cuts. I am pretty sure they have happened while I was in the backyard both times, but I really haven't a clue how. I've just been near the pool and watering the trees. I doubt Indy's nails could have done it during the times he's hopped around right behind me as he follows me around. I may never figure this one out. So, for the time being, I am going ahead with the POSSESSION theory since it seems like the best one.

Advantages of me, Lisa, being possessed:

1. Great excuse to leave early today and go home
2. It explains my hairstyle
3. No more cumbersome Bible-reading for me; it's all porn for me now. And I can say, "I have to read this, because the demon in me demands it. Back off."
4. Gives me the right to swerve and lean on my horn as I tailgate people
5. I can throw up on whomever I please!
6. I think I can vote multiple times. I love voting.
7. When I pee where I'm standing, my friends will gasp, point, smile and then put their hands on their hips and say knowingly, "That darn demon!" And we'll all laugh as some unfortunate custodian has to clean up. This will bring me closer to my friends.

Besides the possession, I have had a lot going on lately. We've got a lot of wedding stuff underway, and work has kept me quite busy this week. I FINALLY have seen some of "Lost"... we rented Season 1, Disc 1 from Netflix last night. It's really as good as people have told me it was, and I can't wait for the next disc to arrive. HOWEVER. Best of all, we went in the pool last night!

I love it. It's a beautiful pool, and the water was perfect last night--not too cold. Greg and I went out around midnight and floated around for awhile, marveling at the moon and stars overhead and the amazed feeling of ownership of an actual pool. ("I can't believe we have a POOL!") Plus, I kind of have a crush on our automatic vaccuum, The Navigator. Have you seen these automatic pool cleaner-things? So cute! It's a wee little boxy thing, and it stays in the pool all the time and travels all around, sucking up dirt whenever the pump and filter are on. It has these little flipper-type things that help propel it along the bottom of the pool and up the walls. It just chugs its way along with nary a complaint, happily climbing walls and getting itself around the light in the wall. Also, I love the fact that there is a robot that can do work that I had assumed would need to be done manually, like the olden days. I used to have to vaccuum our family's inground pool a couple times a week when I was a teenager, and it took up to an hour most of the time. Admittedly, any robot that can do some work for me is going to be loved. No question about it! So, I sat by the pool and just watched it do its work yesterday, smiling a goofy smile of one that is easily impressed with everyday gadgets-- yes, someone who is brain damaged. That's me. The girl with the brain-damaged grin and the scratched-up legs.

And the sharp-taloned demon living inside me! Don't you DARE forget about him. He'll scratch your damn eyes (and legs) till you die. Scary shit.

Today I bought:

* Crackers

* Deodorant

* Apples

* Shoes

* A cowboy hat!

They said I'd never get a cowboy hat. I wasn't the type for such finery, after all. Why, I was but a simple Jersey girl with a slight Goth tendency with an unexplained love for Birkenstocks. Surely I would not need something as "Western" as a cowboy hat...!

Wellll, sometimes things happen to make you realize the inherent uses for such a hat. One those things is getting a bad sunburn on the part in your hair from doing work in the yard under the oppressive Arizona sun. Another is developing a headache from having this sun punch down onto your brain through the thin, insubstantial layer of skull and hair you've acquired. Maybe hats aren't so bad, after all.

I've had hats. Crappy canvas hats. Baseball hats. I still have two of those, in fact. They are perfect for wearing on a bike ride. However, there's something about a baseball hat that only allows shade on one side of your head at a time. I don't think that something was working for me anymore. I need an all-around RIM.

Greg has a cowboy hat. He wears it when he works in the yard. I admit at first I thought it was silly, only because I have a weak stereotype in my mind of what type of person wears cowboy hats, and I didn't think he fit that particular stereotype at all. I realize in hindsight that his cowboy hat was CHALLENGING ME to change my way of thinking and stop being such a closed-minded douchebag all the time. Plus, he does look good in it. Can't help that!

Because I found myself wanting one. I wanted to have shade all around my head instead of just on my upper face. I desired a breathable-yet-durable cover for my frail cranium. With the pool only days away from actual utilization, it was becoming clear that I was going to need a cowboy hat, too. SOON.

That's why I found myself in the hat section of the local Wal-Mart on my lunchbreak, checking out the Panama Jacks. I guess I could have hunted down a more authentic cowboy-styled hat, especially since I live in Arizona, and we're nothing but a bunch of cowpokes anyway. Everyone here rides horses and we all love the Southwestern style of decorating, and I don't know anyone who doesn't walk around in chaps and flannels everyday, spittin' Skoal and eatin' beans from a can. But for my first hat, I definitely wanted to start out slow. And cheap. Hence, the $9.47 hat in my car right now!

Maybe I will get around to having someone take my picture in the hat and I can post it here so you all can see what a tard in a Wal-Mart hat looks like. Let me know if this sounds appealing to you city folk.

See that shark there? It's a reef shark. They're not all that dangerous, apparently. They can also be caught on a line and rod. Still, they're pretty scary anyway...who wants to be up close with a shark? Not many people I know. But here's the thing: me and my sister lived our entire childhoods with a shark just like that.

It was in the basement sometimes, and other times it was in the garage. My father caught it while on honeymoon with my mom, and he had it stuffed and mounted. It was there before I was born, and to this day my Dad still has it. And it still freaks me out every goddamn time I see it!

My family was a teasin' kind of family. Let's just admit that right now. We tease one another. I would eavesdrop on Trish as she recorded herself talking and singing into the tape recorder and then mock her relentlessly. (Honestly, a lot of what she said and did was just fucking adorable-little-sister stuff; I loved it.) My parents teased one another. My grandparents picked on each other and rolled their eyes and laughed at some dumb thing the other one said. It was a good-time atmosphere. EXCEPT when it came to that fucking shark!

One ordinary Saturday, Trish and I were in the living room, eating Stella D'oro cookies and watching "The Littles", when without any warning whatsoever my father walked in the back door with the SHARK. It was In. The. HOUSE. The scary looking shark that lurked only in the basement until that time... a shadowy place neither of us went to because it was scary as hell...was now right there, in the daylight, being carried through the kitchen TOWARDS US.

We freaked out. There was screaming, there was a quick evacuation from the room. I know we practically tripped over each other trying to hustle up the stairs so we could run to our room and slam the door to get away from the shark. My dad made scary "Oooooooo, shark..." noises as he walked after us slowly.

It definitely upset us; he got more than he bargained for. Sure, he probably had a good laugh at our little-girl screaming and overreacting. But we didn't forgive him for it. A few years later, once the shark was placed in the garage, I took a stone from the driveway and threw it at it. Nothing happened; the shark stayed in place, looking menacing as ever.

Stupid shark!

Although...

I have to admit sharks are cool. You know I am always tuned in to Shark Week. And I scan the news for word of new shark attacks. I do. I think Trish might do it, too. We've got a history with sharks. Big, dead, mounted sharks with glass eyes and fiberglass bodies.

You know what else is freaky as hell? The huge fiberglass blue whale in the American Museum of Natural History. That whole ocean room is scary as fuck to me. When we watched Squid and the Whale recently, the movie ends with a scene in that room. It gave me goosebumps remembering how creepy that place was.

Between that room at the AMNH and the movie "Orca," that might explain why I was so scared to walk past our pool at night when I was in middle school. I used to imagine an orca rising up out of the black water in the dark and biting my arms off.

Hmm... I smell a new TAG-POST. Or whatever they're called.

We've done childhood weirdnesses-- so what are TWO CHILDHOOD FEARS? I'm tagging the usual crowd... Trish, Tinapopo, Lani, Jen, Smackadocious, Pixie, Fraulein N, Lengli (if she's able to blog from FRAAAHHNCE), Kane and Out in Left Field. And any of the rest of you-- I'm looking in your direction Paul, Mike "too coole for schoole" toole, Robert and all of youse guys.

Go to town, scaredy cats.

Why am I still here? Everyone else has gone home. It's a Friday. My boss is gone. Yet, here I sit at my lonely little desk in the corner. You know why I am here? It's because I am a total nerd. I am supposed to work until 5:30, and so I shall. I'm too honest for my own good. (I typed "for my own food" first, and that is also true. My food is not deserving of my rectitude!)

Tomorrow is my birthday, yee ha yee haw YEE! That's my new battle cry, in case you were wondering. It replaces "Schlip dap dip dap DOO!" Ask not about my battles, for they are many and they are bloody... you don't want to know.

It's a nice birthday, 31. There isn't the pressure of doing something I'll always remember to commemorate this birthday. Last year I made sure I went out and had some fun, and it was definitely an excellent way to enter my dirty thirties. The only thing I feel like I should do is maybe buy a lottery ticket and make sure 31 is one of the numbers. That's of course if I ever muster the fortitude to actually go down to the Circle K. So lazy.

Tomorrow is not only my birthday, it's... the day the Gravel Gets Spread. Greg has enlisted the help of two trusted friends, David and Laura, to come over and help on Gravel Gets Spread Day, which begins bright and early at 5:00am. In case you don't know, we are placing said gravel in our backyard, which is almost completed. A huge pile of it--17 TONS to be exact, yowzas!-- was delivered today. The Gravel Gets Spread at 5am because it's supposed to hit 110 tomorrow, and let me tell you that no human being should ever be spreading gravel at those temperatures. That's a surefire way to fry your skull and turn stupid.

I wish I could help, I really do. My back is not cooperating with my wishes, though. I threw it out last weekend, again. Today I am still sore and not walking completely right yet. I always forget and try to do things I am not supposed to do with two herniated discs. I hate having this particular affliction because it definitely can knock you out of doing ANYTHING if the pain is bad enough. And I don't like feeling idle. I want to do things and contribute and be useful, damn it. Stupid back.

Well, in other news, I had lunch at a place called the White Chocolate Grill today. Free birthday lunch from the bosslady. I half expected some sort of fondue thing, or weird frou-frou entrees with white chocolate in the recipe somehow, but all they had that was white chocolate was their desserts. I ordered the one dessert that did not have white chocolate in it, ironically. I had the apple pie.

I saw a little bit of "The Office" last night, and I realized something I didn't want to realize: there is a chance that I might get tired of the premise. Anyone else feel like it's a little limited in what they can do? Or is it just me?

I'm also going to be the Publicity Director of this new theater company in town. I met with the main artistic and production directors last night and they were really nice and honest and they seem like they're on the same page that I am when it comes to Community Theater. So we'll see how this goes. Doing publicity for a company is cool, because I can still say that yes, I am involved in theater, but no, I don't have to worry about learning lines or casting a show or finding props. It's an easy way to be involved, for me. I'm excited about it. Check out Insurrection Theater.

It is now almost 5:30, so I am leaving! FIZZZOWWW! I'm outta heeeeere. Like Doug. If you get that reference give yourself a cube of sugar--you've earned it.

Check out this awesome image from Something Awful. I don't know why but the illustration of the skeleton with the ball is killing me: