In No Danger Of Staying Organized

I have a personal organizer and it is my new favorite thing ever:

No, you can't search inside this one. Try here.

And now I spend all my time with it instead of on the internet or with this blog!

But have no fear. I am Not, Under Any Circumstances, the kind of person who can be Personally Organized. The affair will be short.

It’s lipstick red pleather, which is hot, and it has a bunch of sections, which is also hot, but I worry about their practicality. “Calendar” is actually being used, so far, although I’m not used to having to label my own days. It feels sort of like I paid for a device that will continually test me on my ability to recognize and record the passage of time, perhaps not a bad idea. (Now that I have typed this, the LT will make me get a watch I have to operate by manually filling in the LED screen with a red pen, in the vain hope that I will eventually gain a grip on just how many minutes it actually takes me to get ready to go anywhere.) “Addresses” is clearly a holdover from another time, or perhaps another universe. It has one address, my tutoree, who calls me “Toot-toot” and treats me as one big joke she’s playing on her parents, and enjoys getting into my stuff and leaving “CLAIRE WAS HERE” signs, like many high schoolers do.

My “To Do” Section has been used; it has exactly four entries, one of which is “Recover from Hangover.” (It’s been checked off.) The others are, in succession,
1. Create Budget
2. Find new place to live
3. Peruse more secondhand bookstores.

Or, in other words,
1. Track money so you can save it.
2. Spend a lot of money all at once, erasing spending money for anything else.
3. Spend your spending money instead of saving it or buying a condo.

Obviously ALL of my personalities were involved in this particular activity. Way to work together, guys. Next time, let’s at least agree on a general direction first, okay?

Sunday Evening

Much like many Sunday evenings, I am making dinner and sipping a glass of red. I'm trying to get better about both eating more cheaply and cooking more sustainably, as in making enough for leftovers and NOT using an entire paper towel roll just mindlessly. I would talk more about it, except that Crazy Aunt Purl has already said everything I would say, and ten times better.

More in-depth explanation: Crazy Aunt Purl has started a regime--I think it's for three months--in which she is not buying anything that is not NECESSARY FOR BREATH OR FOOD OR SHELTER, a noble goal. And I was inspired! And I thought, I will do that, too! Hah. Let me tell you, it is more difficult than it looks. I did okay yesterday--if you don't count the Soy Chai at Tully's, when I was tutoring, or the Cinammon Dolce Latte today. (Ahem. Or the eight bucks I spent at Ross, or the fifteen dollars I spent at Target, or the forty-three dollars I spent at Circuit City.) (I swear all of them were necessary. I SWEAR.)

I'm also trying to make this policy extend to groceries, as it has become apparent to me that expensive groceries are sucking up most of my paycheck, so I'm cooking at home a lot and desperately trying to make the groceries in my cupboard already and the last thirty-seven-dollar bill at TJ's stretch all week.

Statistics aside, I've had an interesting weekend, not because I did anything, but precisely the opposite: I've had an interesting weekend because I did almost nothing. Because, you see, after six days straight spent in each other's presence, the LT ran off for a "ski with the boyz" weekend, and frankly it has been a pleasure to see Other People, as in my own personal friends, and go out, just a big group of single and single-for-a-night people, and come home and wake up when I wanted to and loll about Saturday night in bed, doing nothing except surfing the web and reading magazines and watching a movie that I know the LT wouldn't be interested in. I read Boobs, Boys, and High Heels, a used copy of which cost me 37 dollars on Amazon.com, and thought about me and life and Titan and houses and furniture and really, anything that came into my head. Lovely, and restful.

Listening to: The Very Best of Maria Callas

Currently Consuming: Glass of Target Cube Wine, Red.

Cooking: Aarwenn's Specialty: Mexican Flavored Veggie Nonsense. (A more complete description is here.)

Things to Remember: DON'T BURN THE GARLIC, YOU MORON.

Update: I did NOT burn the garlic! I am awesome!

Further Update, just for the LT: All this talk about the value of alone time aside, I miss you, sweetie.

I'm HOME!

I'm in Seattle! On a main street! There is a Starbucks not four blocks away!

It's not that I didn't like Texas--in fact, I did. It was big, and empty, and flat, and SUNNY, and it had the Gulf of Mexico and houses on stilts and boardwalks and beaches with actual sand, sand so real and densely packed that you can DRIVE on it, for miles and miles. There we were driving on the beach, watching pelicans hunt down dinner, it was completely surreal. Because where I come from, the beaches have rocks, not sand, and we are so afraid of disturbing our natural habitat that Titan, much less a car, is not allowed on any Seattle beach for fear of him "threatening" the local wildlife. My ass. Like seagulls need protection?

Anyway, it was extremely restful, and we did lots of touristy things, and it was very lovely. I spent six days non-stop with the LT and we are still together and even, indeed, still speaking to each other. It's not that Texas was so different, although it certainly was, because obviously the idea of a permanent home is not anything I need to stay mentally stable, although some would argue that I'm never mentally stable.

The thrill of being home, even in a bedroom which I am only renting and has no permanent value for me whatsoever, is in recognizing the magazine titles on the newsstand, and recognizing freeway signs, and knowing which direction the water is, and hearing the "skkkkkhhhhhssss" of milk being foamed, even at ten at night, and admiring the Seattle fashion in the airport, and taking a deep breath and filling my lungs with Pacific Northwest air.

Big, Quick Update

I'm in Texas, and so is my work laptop, iPod, camera, and most of my jewelery.

Which is good because had it been in Seattle, it would have been taken when M's house was robbed yesterday afternoon.

We didn't lose much, thank God--I didn't lose my skis, which for obvious reasons I did NOT take to Texas--but M and his boy lost their laptops and iPods. The theives dumped out my purses, although the overall mess level in my room probably didn't change much, and tried to take M's big flatscreen off the wall, unsuccessfully. They left all his stereo equipment.

Everyone please send good thoughts as we deal with the aftermath.

And also: wine.

Out-Of-Office Assistant: On Vacation

In RURAL TEXAS.

We are way past the suburbs, y'all.

On the plus side, it's only an hour to a town with a Starbucks, and at least it's not dry; I'm on the Gulf Coast, so there's lots of water. And also: fire ants.

I haven't met those yet, though.

So far I have spent a full day riding around in a big pickup with the LT and my hosts, the country music on high. I have been in stores that sold religious artifacts, lots of them. I have drank at a refined honky-tonk. I have been in restaurants in which you can smoke at the table. I have met parrots, seen pelicans and herons, driven by several oil refineries, and been on a boardwalk on the Gulf. I have eaten at Landry's. I have been to Galvaston and walked on The Strand.

I have been to church, wearing a skirt AND pantyhose.

I can only imagine what wonders tomorrow holds.

Before _______________, I Have To _____________, a Mental Exercise.

Fill in the blank.

I drive more than three miles: Stop for gas.

I buy gas: Withdraw money from Bank Account #1.

Bank Account #2 goes overdrawn: Put in money from Bank Account #1.

I get home: Drop by company store. (Insert soul-selling joke here.)

I leave work: Retrieve food from fridge.

(And I am stealing space in someone else's fridge, because MY office's fridge is now a mold colony and NO ONE HAS MOVED IT OR MADE AN EXECUTIVE DECISION ABOUT IT WHATSOEVER. It's been sitting there with mold on it for three days now.)

I leave for Texas: Bake cookies.

I leave for Texas: Pack.

Packing: Do Laundry.

Texas: Send out tutoring paperwork.

Texas: Make Briefing Chart for a meeting almost two weeks from now.

Said Meeting: Make an agenda.

The End of February: Move Out.

I move out: Find another place to live.

I find another place to live: Get pre-approved for a mortgage.

I get pre-approved: Wait for my raise to come through.

I implode: Scream.

Something Heavy, Many Things Light

Today, there was a shooting at a high school in Tacoma, my hometown. One shooter, one fatality, sadly not the same person. Not much is known about it yet, but it's on BBC news and CBS, and of course in the hometown news, too.

*

In lighter news, I finally rolled up my sleeves and fixed my completely fubared Firefox, something plaguing me for six months at least, and I am pleased to report that I'm sporting the brand-new version AND Google Toolbar AND I finally re-installed Sage and rebuilt my feeds! So beware, bloggers. I will be a commenting machine.

I have a new boss at work, and I wish she and I had met in a former life and she could adopt me to be her little sister. THAT'S how cool she is. Although I wouldn't make a very good little sister, and I get the impression that she wouldn't make a very good big sister, either--we're both pretty competitive! Fortunately as she is my manager, the lines of communication are clearly drawn, and I hope I can manage to bond with her as my mentor, without making her feel like I'm sucking up (I'm not!) and also make her proud by successfully wrangling my projects, especially the one that I'm leading. Yes, leading.

You know your gchat profile is good when you edit it, and ten seconds later, three people gchat you to talk about it, and it spurs discussion in other gchat circles, and don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about when I say gchat circles.

I started with: "I'm pro-environment, but that’s like saying I'm also pro kittens and daisies. Because who isn’t for the environment? Who screams, “Down with the ozone!” while crazily releasing chlorofluorocarbons into the air? No one. At least no one I know."

Within two seconds I got:

Ben: Well I'M anti-environment!
Me: You would be!

Kiwi: I totally do. I'm like, fuck you, mother earth.
Me: Actually, I burn plastics in front of big fans.
Kiwi: Sinner. I'm totally pro kitten though.
--Later--
Kiwi: "Fight Global warming. Leave your fridge doors open!"

I know, I know. Everyone's a comedian.

Test?

Anyone know how to make this image slightly more format-friendly?

In Which The Universe Laughs at Me

I haven't made resolutions yet this year, much like I haven't yet sent out Christmas Cards, even though I've bought them, and I barely even wrapped my presents. (This whole "Christmas Spirit" thing fell completely by the wayside in competition with things like long skiing trips and my birthday!)

So it would be silly to say that one of my resolutions was to bring my lunch from home more often, since I don't HAVE resolutions.

But it WOULD be safe to say that I have a lot of leftovers in my fridge, and that some more of my (non-existent) New Year's Resolutions are to stop food waste and stop wasting so much money on food, a fact pointed out to me by the LT every damn time we go to one of my overpriced yuppie grocery stores and he looks at the price of meat (not meat for ME!) and says, "I can get four times this much meat for half of the price! THIS is where your money is going! Quit complaining about being broke!"

"I don't know what you mean?" I say politely, as I buy Tofutti Sour Supreme at 3.99, two blocks of Follow Your Heart Vegan Gourmet fcheese at 3.49 a piece, guacamole for 4.69, and a dark chocolate bar for 2.19, not to mention four frozen meals at 4.59 a pop.

Sigh. (AlsoIhavenotevenlookedatmybudgetsinceSeptember.) So far, though, I’m avoiding being quite as broke as I was LAST year at this time, barely barely. Barely.

It’s really only my own stupidity that has kept me from saving money on food, thus far. I don’t make big versions of things at once because I don’t like leftovers. I don’t like how leftovers, left in the pan, dry out at the very top. Some leftovers taste better the next day, but others really don’t, and I end up having to add sauces and things to them, not a bad thing in any case but it begins to feel like I’m cooking them again, and I don’t know. I have a block about leftovers. Especially when I make a large bread dish, for example, in a pan, and then I take out servings one at a time and the bread begins to gray on the edges because the pan is old and transferring its metal content to the bread, and the bread begins to taste rusty, almost bloody, and I think about throwing the whole thing out. And then I’m talking to T-Town and she says, “Why don’t you just split up the dish into Tupperwares? That’s what I do, right away, or else I won’t eat it.”

Like, DUH. Brainwave, anyone? This does mean, of course, that I’ll have to wash more dishes, but whatever. Landlord has a very nice dishwasher. But, anyway! Tupperware! How easy! I immediately divided the LT’s Christmas dinner leftovers among tupperwares, washed out the big pans, and felt very Betty Crocker.

And so this morning, when I left for work (first day back, hi everyone!) I just grabbed two tupperwares, and when I rolled into work, happily skipped to the fridge to put them in cold storage until lunch, and almost threw up.

OH MY GOD. SOMEONE LEFT THE FRIDGE UNPLUGGED OVER BREAK WITH STUFF INSIDE IT AND THE DOOR CLOSED.

Who in their right mind, may I ask you, unplugs a fridge without checking it first? Who unplugs a fridge and leaves it CLOSED? The entire office mini fridge is covered with green mold. It’s on the shelves, it’s on the walls. I don’t think it can be saved, and even if it could be, I’ll never put my food in there again. Oh. My. GOD. I almost hurled. And then I almost punched our secretary in the throat, because it was MY food that was in there! I mean, sure, I should have taken it home, but who doesn’t know that if you unplug a fridge, you should OPEN THE DOOR FIRST? Hello! The fridge is a sealed object! If you unplug it, the ice will melt! And then the humidity in the fridge will rise to an all-time high! And then it will mold!

I really, really want to ask for my money back, for my fifteen-dollar calzone, my three dollar nacho fcheese, and my four dollar fsour cream.

Sigh.

And now, on my first day back from break, I sit here eating my bread and tomato sauce, going rusty on the edges, and hope that my shepherd’s pie and alfreda sauce doesn’t go bad before lunch time.

I’m off to track down another fridge.

In Which I Attempt Organization

WANTED: One personal librarian. JOB DUTIES: Organizing my large and ever-growing collection of personal and public media; including, but definitely not limited to: journals, emails, food logs, bills, photo-sharing sites, blogs, forum memberships, family obligations, my social calendar, my voice recorder, and my brain. PAY: Nothing. HOURS: 24-7. BENEFITS: Constant entertainment, of varying qualities.

To take a few steps towards this goal myself, before I hire someone at a less than nothing salary, because I'll probably borrow money from them too, I have added both the LT's photo-sharing site and my own photo-sharing site to the links, on the side bar. I realize that it is way cooler to put pics in the blog, but until I can hire someone to do that for me, or at least until I can find an easy way of posting pics without first downloading them to my computer, this is the best way.

Currently Consuming: Leftover Roasted Brussel Sprouts, microwaved, with lots of fresh-ground salt and pepper. I assumed I would need the Alfreda Sauce I also got out of the refrigerator, but I guess not--they're surprisingly good plain. That's good because I'll need that sauce for the Shepherd's Pie from LT's Christmas Dinner.

Currently Listening: Dogs snoring.

Currently waiting for: My damn jazz CD's to come in the mail!

Movies Seen Recently: Children of Men. I loved it, LT hated it.

Current New Year's Eve Plans: Dinner!

Adventures in Vacationing

Friday, Dec. 22nd, noon: Get Hair Did.
Friday, Dec. 22nd, midnight: Jager-Bombs for Birthday!

Saturday, Dec. 23rd, noon: Christmas Celebration (Part 1 of 4)
Saturday, Dec. 23rd, midnight: Christmas Party with Killer Jenga

Sunday, Dec. 24th, 10 am: Singing in Choir.
Sunday, Dec. 24th, 10 pm: Singing in Choir.

Monday, Dec. 25th, 8 am: Stopping at only open espresso drive-thru.
Monday, Dec. 25th, 10 am: Cooking up a storm.
Monday, Dec. 25th, 1 pm: Christmas Celebration (Part 2 of 4)
Monday, Dec. 25th, 6 pm: Bringing Christmas and Christmas Dinner to Navy boys on duty. (Christmas Celebration Part 3 of 4) (See Cooking up a storm, above.)
Monday, Dec. 25th, 11 pm: Zzzzzzzz.

Tuesday, Dec. 26th, noon: Picking up Titan.
Tuesday, Dec. 26th, 3 pm: Watching TV with LT.
Tuesday, Dec. 26th, 6 pm: Shooting pool.
Tuesday, Dec. 26th, 10 pm: Zzzzzzz.

Wednesday, Dec. 27th, 8 am: Eating entire container of Zatarain's Red Beans and Rice. Sitting on couch. Watching TV. Consuming coffee with lots of f.creamer.

Thursday, Dec. 27th, 8 am: SKIING!

Accentuate the Postive!

Occasionally, my life sucks.

Or rather, occasionally certain things go wrong in my life, and because I'm obsessive and melodramatic, I blow small things completely out of proportion, go crazy, and take my support group with me.

For example: two years ago, when I got fired, got screwed out of the 300 dollars by the bank, and couldn't pay rent, right before T-Town was about leave for a month and a half, I was fairly calm about it, because really, what are you going to do? I called the bank, got them to refund my money, found another job, and went happily on my merry way, paying rent and holding down the fort until T-Town got back.

I always tend to be calm during catastrophic events. There's the time that I was moving, coughing up lungs, and contracting profuse nosebleeds. I kept moving my stuff, asked my mother and boyfriend for help, and hired a truck. There's the time that the water pipe burst overhead, at 2 am, in the apartment that I shared with T-Town. We moved our electronics out of the way, unscrewed the antique light fixture, and split ways to spend the night at our parents, with our respective dogs.

But when I hear the news that a few people I know don't like me anymore? OH MY GOD, CATASTROPHE. THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH. My hair falls out. My skin has literally started to flake off. I call people and bitch them out. I shower attention on those who don't need it.

And I focus on what I CAN do, and HAVE done well, already.

A Partial List Of Things That Are Not Fubared In My Life:

LT.
My promotion.
My security clearance.
My house, yet.
The four reports I wrote in the last week.
Work friends.
LT's friends.
Singing.
Skiing!
Night skiing for free because a nice boy found me a ticket!
Eating!
Cooking!
The most adorable girly Christmas presents ever!
DIGITAL CAMERA!
New jazz CDs!
LT!!
Family.
Old friends.
New friends!
Paid Christmas vacay!

And last, but most importantly,

Hummus, wine, and crackers. Thank you and good night.

Hello from Mt. Bachelor!

My 26th birthday passed with a typhoon, geometry, roses, cupcakes, candles, opera, a vegan feast, family laughter, and my boyfriend whisking me away on a surprise vacation to Mt. Bachelor.

Many thanks, also, to all of my college friends, who could somehow sense that I needed a little extra love this year and wrote messages, emailed, myspaced, facebooked, and called. I love every single one of you. Sometimes I wish I lived on the East Coast just so I could be closer to all of you. (Okay, I wish that OFTEN. Well, sometimes. You know what I mean.)

Many MANY thanks, last, but definitely NOT least, too all the hometown people wishing me a happy birthday.

Yay 26!

Happy Birfday to ME!

I am 26 TODAY!!!

Horoscope Today:

Ferociously proud and somewhat vain, you like to be impressive and to be seen as Somebody Special. You are not timid, meek, or self-effacing, and are rarely content being in the background or in the subordinate position. You are a natural leader, and do not take orders from others very well. You must have something of your own, something creative - be it a business, a project, a home or whatever - that you can develop and manage according to your own will and vision. Whatever you do, you do it in a unique, dramatic, individual way. You like to put your own personal stamp on it.

You are a gambler and an adventurer at heart, one who loves to take risks, to discover and explore new worlds, and to take the untried path rather than the safe, reliable one. You are an independent soul, freedom-loving, and often very restless. You need a lifestyle that provides opportunities for travel, movement, change, and meeting new people. A steady routine which offers much in the way of security but little in the way of space and freedom is odious to you.

Who, me?

Now With EXTRA Character!

My friend Shrew has this unbelieveable quote on her gchat profile: "Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don't necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk."

I don't know who said it--a quick search on Google has turned up nothing--but I know it's not hers because she couldn't spell "necessarily" right on the first try, not that I don't love her dearly anyway. It's a perfect quote for her, my Partner in ADD, and for me. (Or did I say that already?)

I have good days, where I'm really on, and bad days, where the LT gets worried that I haven't finished a sentence in four hours and I keep staring off into space, and, really, can I FOCUS for JUST TEN SECONDS, THANK YOU VERYMUCH?

For example, suddenly today, after successfully being fingerprinted, making a new girlfriend in the Security Clearance Office, securing (ha!) a temporary security clearance for myself, navigating my annual performance review, and checking on my PROMOTION (yay!) I had a PANIC attack about a social engagement and emailed a friend to say that the LT and I were not going.

And then suddenly I remember that the LT and I had already talked about said social engagement and HAD planned to go!

So I just as quickly emailed my same friend that, wait, haha, I'm an idiot and we ARE going after all! I think? Maybe? And what day is it today? Is the world still round? Hello? Am I CEO yet? Are my eyes still pointing the same direction?

The response: "Oh. My. God. How easily I forget."

...Is that even an answer? Because if I wanted character assasinations, I could just go to my MOTHER'S house, thank you VERY much.

Anyway, I imagine that as my friend CP was typing his response, he was simultaneously emailing his fiance his heartfelt thanks that she was not half as crazy as I am, and also possibly wondering what kind of man the LT is and if he failed horribly in one of his past lives?

But it does not matter! Because although I have started at least five thoughts this weekend that I never finished, I have officially bought the BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EVER for the LT, and that, my friends, will make up for a lot of...

Sunday Evening. Part Infinitum.

I am drinking a glass of wine so rough that I could chew it, but it's necessary. Necessary because I just got my new Lucky Magazine in the mail and dear God, the eighties, and now the seventies, and dear God, the clothes are so UGLY RIGHT NOW! The Lucky fashion editors may not think of themselves as old, and I'm sure they are happy to return to a time (fashion-wise) which may hold many happy memories for them, but darlings, I was not even born in the seventies. By the time I was born, Ronald Reagan was already in office. I do not remember wide-legged jeans, I do not like vests, and LEATHER BACKPACKS? You're recommending leather backpacks? For the LOVE of GOD.

Anyway.

Also on the disappointment list: the LT and I watched The Sting and Laura this weekend--we chilled a lot this weekend, as we also watched Pearl Harbor, Van Helsing, and Cars--I now wear a size ten and not a six--and I was making a big deal of watching Laura because it's so classic film noir, very big deal at the time, all that, and we watched it and it's so...huh. Some good camera work. And of course Gene Tierney is great to watch. But...otherwise...well. Kind of slow. And really heavy on atmosphere. I'd seen it before, and remember liking it, but...well.

It's possible, also, that my 15 inch laptop didn't do it justice.

Great Bruise of 2006

You thought I was done with the pictures.

I'm so not.







LT, when taking these pictures, ordered me around like Hugh Hefner, telling me to turn my thigh this way or that way. Finally, I said, "What's the problem?"

"Your skin reflects too much light," he complained. (See, Pasty-white flab, previous post.)

"Well. EXCUSE ME."

Remind me to get a tan next time.

The Invisible 300

Note: This will NOT be a post about me begging my invisible 300 readers to COMMENT ALREADY, JESUS CHRIST, IT'S NOT HARD. I will never be one of Those bloggers, do you hear me? Never! Okay. Now that that's settled...

I was talking to Roommate (now much previous, but will always be called Roommate in this blog, because why not?) the other night, and I said, in passing, "If you want to see the biggest bruise ever, check out my blog." (And let me take this moment to say that it is now TWELVE TIMES BIGGER THAN IT WAS IN THOSE PICTURES. It consumes my entire thigh, front AND back, and most of my knee. Please do not ask me how you can hit both sides of your leg at once on one, stationary, rock. Should be impossible. HA, HA. Guess it's not!)

Those were some really damn long parantheses.

Anyway. Roommate. Right. I was telling him about The Great Bruise of 2006, or GB'06, as I like to call it, and he said, "I'm already a regular reader of your blog."

And I was surprised. I mean, I always KNEW he could read, but to hear that he read DAILY...

Ha. Ha! Joke! Funny! Anyway. I was surprised because, except for once, maybe twice, the boy has NEVER COMMENTED ON MY BLOG. How would I know he was there, if he hadn't told me?

No, I am NOT one of those bloggers, the ones that beg for commenters. I wouldn't do that, would I? Of course not. I mean, that is just lame and sad. And pathetic. And possibly just plain wrong. (COMMENT, PLEASE. EVERYBODY. FOR THE LOVE OF BLOG.)

But really, it freaks me out a little. I mean, I have a stat counter, I know people read, but you guys are just...out there. Sitting. Reading. Late at night, I sometimes think I can hear you breathing.

Anddddd....perhaps I should just go to bed now.

UPDATE: There was some sort of CLICKING noise outside my window last night. I woke up in a panic, ran around turning off all the lights, (a good idea in any case) and hid under the covers. Cannot wait to sleep in a house tonight that does NOT have gorgeous, hard to secure windows all over the ground floor.

TTIWWOP, Part II

So. I have a leg. A right leg, to be specific. And it has this bruise on it. Which, after these pictures, might well be entitled The Great Bruise of 2006.

The Bruise, on Friday.

The Bruise, again Friday.

The Bruise, Saturday.

The Bruise, today: OH MY GOD A BLACK, FLESH EATING VIRUS HAS CONSUMED MY ENTIRE THIGH. AND NOW MY KNEE.

I tried to show my bruise to my roommate and landlord, M, and his boyfriend. I was all enthusiastic. "HI GUYS! Want to see my BRUISE?"

Their lips curled, much like the smoke from their cigarettes. "Um. No."

Me: "TOO DAMN BAD. I will show you anyway, and you will LOVE it."

I unzipped, pulled down my jeans, and showed them. I believe my landlord's face actually turned green. "Um. Okay. Ow."

What he didn't say: "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN. I did not choose a lifetime of hardship and heartache, looking at beautiful sculpted boys, just so I could be forced to look at YOUR PASTY-WHITE FLAB. PLEASE PUT IT AWAY."

On the other hand, the LT, a guy with both his fair share of bruises AND inordinate interest in my thighs, is only too happy to give his opinion of my bruise every time I show him.

Something tells me I chose wisely.

My Christmas Wish to Google

Dear Google Powers That Be,

I have lived in Seattle most of my life, barring a brief but succeesful college career at Carnegie Mellon, and always ALWAYS the bus system has sucked sweaty goat balls. Buses twenty minutes late, buses crawling down busy streets and blocking traffic for miles, some bus drivers who believe that their buses and passengers are all senior citizens who will die if our speed exceeds 20 mph, and other bus drivers who are trying to pound their buses (and passengers) into submission with gratuitous use of jack-rabbit starts and stops-on-a-dime. As a Seattlelite, I of course have a Starbucks cup surgically implanted into my right hand, meaning that in slow buses, I almost explode with nervous anticipation, and in fast buses, I end up wearing my five dollar coffee. I have started driving instead.

Intellectually, I know that Google cannot fix our bus system, although in my heart I believe that Google can change the world and set the course of the stars. But maybe a useful search engine tool would be some help, in lieu of exploding the Metro Transit office and installing all new cube monkeys. In addition, the highly anticipated light-rail system and Sounder Trains between Tacoma and Everett make the wealth of transit options confusing, although not any more efficient. Please, Google Transit, come to Seattle! We could sure use you.

And so could my dry cleaning bill.

Sincerely,
Aarwenn