Vanasty is back at home with me, where she belongs.

I got word she's unpacking.

We have a Dorignac's date tonight (hello PRECIOUSSSSSSSS) and third dog in the house, so far, is still alive as are the other two.

However, I have had some illusions of sending all four of my cats into the proverbial light I'm so tired of their crap. Woke up this morning, loosed the hounds into the back yard and made my way up to the front of the house (trudge, trudge) on very short sleep due to an unplanned and impromptu visit with a friend.

So I get up front on my whopping four hours of sleep, right, and there is amber colored glass all over the kitchen floor. I naturally assumed Pippi got on top of the cabinets and broke the antique amber colored, acorn shaped candy dish but no, there's Priscilla, stretched out on the cabinets, all long and black and sort of sinister looking really (for him, I mean, he's really a sweet pudding most of the time.) So I had to deal with the glass, all cats are acting like crazed banshees, possessed almost. I scratch Pippi's neck and she's covered with scabby bites. Great, she has a flea allergy so she must have gotten bitten. No time in my AM schedule though to dose all the cats with Advantage - so that will go on my agenda for tonight after Dorignacs. Dose all animals w/Advantage.  Fun, right?

Oh boy! Any more excitement and I may just YAWN!

And I put in for tomorrow off. Why have a three day weekend when you can have a four day weekend, hmm?

But we keep in touch, a little.

Anyway, Beignet is not letting me lull myself into any sort of false sense of security. We talked, briefly this morning and he really wants me to go to the firing range, shoot a variety of guns, see what feels "comfortable" for me, and begin the process of at least getting comfortable with the concept of self-protection.

I won't say he's pushing me, but he's strangely not one to let me backslide on something he thinks will help me.

He acknowledged that my hippy background leaves me as he put it "rather pre-disposed against this." But after highlighting that just because nothing has happened further and because there is another body in the house, my likelihood of being a victim increases with each day that I do not take sensible precautions. (An aside, I thought that was a tad dramatic but at the same time... when you examine the evidence, he's not entirely too far off.)

He then asked me to consider his peace of mind with regard to all this. (Huhwhat?)

He's right, you know. Iron doors and another person in the house, and how quickly I have forgotten that someone tried the door to my bedroom only recently, not two weeks after the previous break-in. In my haste to "move past" those events, I sort of did feel like maybe all that stuff was indeed, over.

So not this weekend, but next weekend, I go to Baton Rouge to see my friend Beignet, who is still my friend Beignet (which in itself is a little remarkable) and go to the firing range to see what guns I am "comfortable" with in my grubby little hands. I don't have the energy or desire to open up and tell him any of the past issues I have with guns - I'm hoping perhaps I can nurture some of my own power with this little exercise.

When your friends point out that you just might be pre-menstrual before you yourself have put it together.

It's a bad thing when someone picks up in a chat session that you're a little spiky.

It's totally whacked when EVERYONE picks up, whether in chat or on the phone or in person, that you're a little spiky.

Especially when you're tying to be nice, your normal cordial self... what does this say about me? That I'm really NOT the sunbeam of love I perceive myself to be?

I remember a long time ago, Bill Cosby had a fairly funny (for the times) non-raunchy video out called Bill Cosby - Himself. He covered a lot of ground from raising kids, to visiting the dentist to people who work all week and drink and get high on the weekends.

He said that he asked someone why did they do cocaine? The answer - "Because it intensifies my personality."

To which Bill Cosby replied, "Yes, but what if you're an asshole?"

I have a love/hate relationship with my PMS.

YES, it makes me shoot my mouth off prematurely.
YES, it makes me spiky and temperamental, maybe even slightly rabid.
YES, it makes me scattered and unpredictable.
YES, it makes me pick fights with people I love.
YES, it makes me hate my mind and my body.
YES, it intensifies my inner asshole personality.

In short, sweet sunbeam me does not stand a shot against this foaming mad bitch. Kinda good, kinda bad... nice to let the inner bitch out to play from time to time but man, the cleanup in its wake sometimes is a bit much.

***EDIT***

Please place wine and chocolate on my front porch!!!

I got this from americangod. I promise if you play along, I'll play back.

This one interests me because as some of you have accused me, I have an itchy nicknaming trigger-finger. Usually my nicks for others are one word, semi-descriptive, and they come to me in a fiery blaze of lightening-inspiration, etc, etc, etc.

Even those of you without lj accounts, let me know who you are... I'll do it, I promise.

"Choose one word to describe me ... just one single word. Leave it in my comments. Then post this message on your journal (or not) and see how many strange and interesting things people say about you."

If you want, I'll even leave my one word for you in response to your comment so you don't even have to repost in your journal, just let me know how you want your one word...

I aim to please.

From the failblog: (http://failblog.org/)



And this is something I've actually seen in the city of NO:



A more substantial post, as promised, may follow!

I don't know what time the lightening show started. All I know is I was sleeping peacefully, on my stomach, right leg extended up, hands shoved way under the pillow, deep, deep sleep. All of a sudden in one swift move, Jack walked up and plopped right down onto my back, huffing and puffing. He was a nervous wreck. Mere rain doesn't trigger him but severe pressure changes AND lightening really set him off. He was antsy, I was antsy.

I had choices, I could turn on the television and/or a lamp to diffuse the drama of the lightening as it came in through the French doors, or I could do what I did which was to peel back the covers and invite him to snuggle up with me and cover his face with the bedspread.

Poor little pup! I know his triggers - my being gone is one of them which REALLY makes me worry about Burning Man this summer. Also, air pressure changes and lightening trigger him (we stayed for Katrina and I think he ties a lot into that somewhere in his peanut sized brain.) He paces, he puffs, he gets as far up into my face as possible, readjusts and tries to crawl even further into me. This can go on for a long time (when there were storms and tornadoes a year and a half ago, it went on for hours) - or until the weather calms down.

I wonder how long he's going to live. He's 8 years old now. I was informed that the life he led, as long as his stress was managed, would be normal but nobody can tell me how short his life will be cut due to the daily cocktail of steroids he is on. I remember a friend arguing with me that he wasn't sick because he didn't look sick, he acted normal and it's true. I forget sometimes that he has this until I am faced with the prospect of taking a vacation without him, or when there is lightening outside.

I left the television on for him today and the lights, but the truth is this: right now, I wish I was at home to hold him and calm him down - I'm the only thing that can.

In keeping with the theme from earlier today regarding women's fears facing singlehood, age, body image, etc, sometimes lj_secret just gets me all kinds of choked up:



but especially this one:



I mean, it's kind of contradictory and yet at the same time, I can sort of identify.

Okay, now I'm really going to bed. Ok?

Usually the days before commencement are a snowball, rolling downhill. Unstoppable. Busy. Frenetic and chaotic.

For some reason I feel a bit more controlled, all things considered.

I keep wondering if I’ve managed to colossally mess up something major, somewhere along the line and I’m only going to find out about it when it’s too late to actually do anything about it.

I guess I will cross that bridge if or when I get to it.

Speaking of crossing bridges…

Last night found me taking a long ass drive across the river to visit Bad Top and meet her kids and let her cook me dinner. Bad Top managed to plop a gigantic dollop of margarine right smack onto the floor, her naked son barely careening right through it on his way to the kitchen table atop which he proceeded to entertain me with his mad tapdancing skills.

But see, I’m more programmed for animals than I am for children and all I could think was that if Tallulah (her Boston Terrier who is psycho) ate that margarine, she might have a tremendous case of something most unpleasant. So I ignored the nude and shameless tapdancing boy on the table, and warded off the dog from the margarine, while Bad Top ordered the girl to fetch some paper towels.

Fun ensued. The dog still licked the spot on the floor...

Dinner was eaten by all except the naked tapdancing boy. It’s not that she starves him, it’s that he truly is just not interested in food.

There was an entertaining mother/daughter power struggle.

Finally, all children were put to sleep. Meanwhile, M-Dawg called me, wanting to know what I was doing, did I want to go and get into basically some sort of trouble, go out, get wrecked… I’m like, um, right, it’s MONDAY NIGHT (and hello, when is the last time any of you hussies remember ME going OUT with YOU and GETTING WRECKED, give me a break!) Anyway, we wound up inviting M-Dawg over to Bad Top’s to join us for random girly silliness.

Totally random, totally girly, totally silly.

Of course we wound up on the computer at some point. (An aside, I actually am looking forward to Burning Man and being away from computers for almost two weeks. Can I do it?)

Lots of laughing… before long, I realized it was midnight and I needed to be heading myself back in the direction of my River’s Bend, my bed and my Tempur-Pedic memory foam pillow. M-Dawg and I left together. I followed her as I am so directionally challenged and lost-phobic.

We opted to take the Huey P. Long bridge, which is quite an experience (it's narrow, frighteningly so.) The last time I drove over the Huey P. Long bridge, I think I had the Honda CRX which is a two seater. It’s a bit like driving a coke can super glued onto a rollerskate base. I’m in a more substantial automobile nowadays (ironically, a Honda CrV.) I thought about passing her, then thought better of it. It was late, we were bleary eyed… I was tired…

But damn if I didn’t have a choice to make at the base of that bridge…

Go right and go home…

Go left to Metairie and take a chance on twisting a particular doorknob, opening a particular door, and surprising a particularly mysterious friend.

I wish I could say I went left and pursued mystery… but the truth is this, I’m self-trained and even though there have been times where I have even been slightly encouraged to just take a chance, go for what I want and simply take it, the bottom line is this, unless I have an invitation and I’m sure I have an invitation, I will not ever just show up.

And I told him about this, this morning, the trip down off the Huey P. Long bridge and my choice at the base of the bridge, and asked him the simple question, “If I had shown up last night, would the doorknob have turned?”

To which he replied, “You’ll never know.”

(offsides note to one reader, do you see yourself in this answer perhaps?)

See, stuff like that is the only reason I have not run all over him and added him to the pile of bodies on the side of the road yet. He doesn’t ever give me the full cut and dried answer but he gives me just enough to make me consider other ways of asking the question. AND, he answered the question clearly, concisely and inarguably.

Even after he leaves New Orleans, when his work is done, I hope we remain friends because I have never had a friendship quite like his. I hope when we’re old, we’ll rib each other about how we met and argue about who said or did what first. Luckily I have the entire paper trail.

And again, I've made it to Friday. This week reads like the Dickens' selection:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way— in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

All in one week's time.

I had a good time this week, had a bad time this week, I got sorta smarter this week and I acted like a plum fool (names omitted to protect the far from innocent). I endured another attempted home violation, I recovered from it a little wiser, I hung out with my mother, I ate so much I got congested, I had a brutal workload and I accomplished it with an equal ratio of joy and stress. I had light of the workday and the darkness of a very dark sort of love, I am NOTHING if not filled with hope, I despaired - but only briefly.

Everything extreme seems so precariously balanced in direct complement to its opposite.

Only through knowing good, do we know bad.

Only through light, do we know dark.

...or is it the other way around?

I return to this personal theory of relativism - or rather, relative complement-ism, all the time, in realizing things that swirl about me constantly, and in realizing things that swirl inside of me constantly... and how neatly they sometimes seem to *CLICK* like a puzzle piece, snugged right up against that quality's direct opposite.

I guess it's not really mine to understand - it's its' own unique brand of magic.

Translation for the hippy-dippy/airy-fairy intolerant:

Today I'm feeling MUCH MUCH BETTER! Earlier parts of this week found me trying to emerge from what felt like a vat of murky jello. Today the sun shines a little brighter, the heat of the day warms through to my core, and nothing feels better than being a week away from feeling oh, I don't know, even BETTER! What a concept.

And of course, there is fun to be had.

Quick sound bites:

Today has been an insane day. The type of day I dread preparing for (I always freak out that there’s some colossally important step I’ve neglected, which of course would never happen) and yet energizes me when it’s actually here. I have run back and forth “between the worlds” of various schools and departments. It’s been an exciting day, overall though I have had no lunch break and I don’t foresee one in my future. No big deal, the metabolism can sometimes use a little wake-up call.

I had a fortune cookie for lunch today. My fortune said “Don’t give up. Your problem gets better next month.”

I have to wonder which problem was this cookie addressing? I don’t have too many problems other than the basic (funds, car suspension, and constant home invasions.) I’ll personally welcome a fix on any of these. Yes, next month could not come soon enough.

I am attending my first ever Neighborhood Watch meeting tonight. Timely? I thought so.

Feeling a bit more centered after my late night excursion yesterday. Though I have to admit, I’m now nervous all the time coming from and leaving my home. I never know what I’m coming home to. I have never felt so personally AFFECTED and it feels black and nasty and tarry and ugh! I can’t scrape this feeling off of me. And the news does not help when all I read about is more crime, roving gangs not too far away from where I live, beating up people walking to and from Walgreen’s.

I try and think, what can I do to make it better? (I guess going to one’s first Neighborhood Watch meeting is as good a step as any?)

I’m also feeling energized by my inner and outer support networks. Nobody is giving me any trouble for bashing the city right now (they better not, or I’d invite them to switch houses with me for a month or so.) And I have a couple of truly unique and intriguing new people in my life, who feel almost instantly familiar to me, keeping up more than regular communication in various, yummy forms...

Shiny and new! Shiny and new!

I just had a second fortune cookie (call them “lunch”) which said:

“Life is a series of choices. Today yours are good ones.”

How great is THAT?

Thanks for all the suggestions. I'm going to tackle them one by one and hopefully will be able to report that I've done most, if not all of the things suggested.

I'm not feeling as bad today. I have learned that there is a narrow window of time one has to recover from certain events that might reduce them to victim-mindedness before either they just become a perpetual victim, or before the next thing happens to them to make them feel like a victim.

In other words, I was broken into in February. I felt victimized for a while, I battened down the hatches and ordered iron doors.

I was broken into again two weeks ago. I felt victimized for a night - the doors were on the next day and while I was definitely ROBBED, and felt robbed, I didn't feel like a victim or target anymore. I felt safer.

More doors came a few days later, securing every entrance to my home.

I felt safe.

Last night, someone tried one of the iron doors to my bedroom. I felt like a victim for the night and woke up today and said "ok, self, we gotta take some more precautions, obviously."

See? I don't like to feel like shit for too long. No matter how much shit is thrown at me. I would just rather deal with it and get on with the business of living my life.

What kills me is that I don't live in what is categorized as a bad neighborhood.

Oh well, neighborhood watch meeting next week. I'm looking forward to it, maybe this was the wakeup call I needed to get involved once and for all, right?

Yeah, so I'm deep in sleep right? Went to bed right around midnight (early for me) needing to catch up on sleep.

Was awakened suddenly and frightfully by the distinct sound of my bedroom iron gate. Not sure if it was someone trying the door latch or what. I woke up startled out of my mind, called a friend of mine who lives close by and is a gun nut. He said he'd be right over.

Meanwhile I take the barking, snarling dogs up to the front of the house and am about to open up the front door and front door iron gate when I notice the gate to the entrance to my property is open.

Yep, someone was definitely on my property again.

I waited for my friend, what was taking him so long? He only lives about a mile and a half from me. Finally he calls, said he only just realized it was me. He thought it was some new girlfriend of his - out off of Clearview Avenue and he was heading back in my direction and kept me on the phone while he drove back.

He got here, noted that yes, the front gate to my property was indeed open. He came through the house all the way to the back, we didn't see any signs of attempted entry - there was a scratch on one of the bedroom iron gates but I'm not entirely sure that was not there already.

I'm so sick of this. So now that I have iron security doors all around my house, I'm now not allowed to sleep for fear that someone is trying to enter my property WHILE I AM INSIDE?

So here's the deal, I need to install motion sensor lights that shine down the side of my house. I need to install burglar bars over the transoms of my bedroom doors, and I need, need, need a gun.

Yes, I need a gun.

It's not a harsh realization. It's not something that is only now coming to me, I've thought about from time to time about needing a gun since the days after the storm (a gun would have eased my sleep those few nights as well.)

It's amazing that I can feel safe in a place for almost ten years, then overnight, feel threatened, address the threat, get threatened again, address the threat again with increased security and now feel like someone is trying to break into my house WITH ME IN IT.

*warning* EMO-DRAMA ALERT, EMO-DRAMA ALERT:
New Orleans might very well win this one... I'm really thinking a lot about getting the hell out. I just don't know if I have the staying power to wait this shit out.

And now an actual post.

Last night found me chatting with Blindfold before heading out to a meeting. Things were left in the air, as they are so frequently with the two of us. Though I had said I had a meeting to attend, I still wound up about hip deep in the rabbit hole in conversation with him (I can’t help it, it’s golden to me, the dance of communication, even with him as a shitty lead) and him finally telling me “Go to your meeting.”

Oh all right. I do well enough with a minimum of instruction, I suppose.

So off I went to my meeting. It was lackluster. A lot of the air seemed to be let out of the sails of those present. During the meeting, I received a telephone call from a foreign number.

I was compelled to answer it… I mean, who could it be? Mystery callers are the most exciting thing to me. What if it’s a long lost friend? Secret admirer? Someone calling to inform me I’ve inherited a gazillion dollars from someone I was nice to over twenty-someodd years ago… (it could happen, I’m nice!)

Anyway, turned out to be a long lost friend. It was my dear friend who does not have a nickname but I have been known to call him Miss Mabli (pronounced May’-blee). He was in from California with his (now) fiancée for Jazz Fest and did I want to recreate the fun we had après Jazz Fest last year by catching the amazing Germaine Bazzle at Donna’s Club on Rampart Street. Well, seeing as I was somewhat already downtown, I said SURE!!! I only get to see Mablie and fiancée but once per year so I was on my merry way to Donna’s Club to see Germaine Bazzle and it was like déjà vu all over again from last year.

Only thing is I’m *sooooo* much different than who or what I was this time last year when we did this.

An aside, only three people have ever known outright what the Latin phrase tattooed on my back meant, two of them were at a certain soiree in Baton Rouge in recent months and the other was at Donna’s Club last time I went to her Germaine Bazzle with Miss Mabli. He was a lawyer, no coincidence there I suppose.

Anyway, it was yet again, another magical experience with Miss Mabli and fiancée. Mabli and I entertained ourselves with complex little hand dances based on the vocal stylings of Ms. Bazzle and it was a whole lot of fun. I went in all hard-assed and mean about the state of New Orleans at present. Hey, lighten up, two home robberies in ten weeks gives me the right to say perhaps things weren’t going as great as I thought they would be last year when I was trying to convince everyone that New Orleans needed love (it did and still does) and that everyone should come back and make it happen. Oh no, I’m a bit more jaded and see things through the shit lenses right now. It’s just going to be that way for a while.

But you know what? Little by little, I hear some New Orleans pedestrian drumbeats, some classic New Orleans brass band favorites, and though I tried as hard as I could to remain stony-faced, I could not help myself. Something about my magical friends, this experience that we have recreated twice now (making it almost a ritual from where I sit) just sort of softened my stony façade and a little of the hardness melted somewhat. I will even cop to grabbing a napkin at one point and incorporating the waving of said napkin into our intricate hand dancing moves.

Hey, waving a napkin to second-line music is my flipping birthright!

Anyway, stayed for both sets, got to see the amazing talent that is Henry Butler sit in an bang the keyboard for a few songs and wow!!! I’m so glad I did this last night. I won’t say it softened all my edges but it reminded me that though I’m slightly crispy on the outside, I’m still just a little tender in the middle for this wounded city.

My infection, let me share it with you:



Bad Top, does this remind you of a recent instance of passing notes in class? I loved the professor's answer to my note - "No, I am not in possession of any livestock." This video was close to what I had in mind that night, except with a puppy! Damn, no pillow fight!

By the way, play nice, this isn't filtered, dearie!

Driving in to work today, the local classic rock station booming talk radio, right as I near work, J. Geils Band's Angel is a Centerfold comes on the radio. What the hell, it's got a catchy beat, and takes me WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY back in time.

Back to first boyfriend Mike (7 years older) when I was 15. It was the early 80's. We stayed together from when I was 15 to 22 (I was not lying when I called myself a serial monogamist from way back.) Anyway, MTV had just begun and actually played music. I so clearly remember this video, all soft and diffused, as if vaseline had been smeared on the camera lens (don't laugh, before all these advanced filter systems and gagety cameras, that was an old school diffusion technique to "soften" the appearance of the models in the adult magazines.)

Oh I remember this video entirely too clearly and this point in my life.

I remember what an asshole my boyfriend Mike was at the time. He'd always talk about how hot the girls in the video were. They were. I loved how they bobbed in beat to the music - their perfect hair bouncing along with their beautiful bodies. The video ends in the predictable pillow fight as well. There was one time when the video came on and he went into his typical Y chromosome early twenties sort of testosterone fueled commentary at the television and of course, I was just sitting there mesmerized by the beautiful girls.

Well, he said something about me liking what I saw and me saying "Yeah" and him saying "Well, what are you? A fucking dyke? You a fucking dyke?"

I don't remember how that ended... it doesn't matter. I associate with a much higher caliber of people right now who actually appreciate and value the differences in people.

And no, Mike, I'm not a fucking dyke, though I have loved many in my life and hold some close to my heart at all times. I have loved women and men and consider myself a lover of PEOPLE.

But thanks for those seven years of making me feel like I was never good enough or that there were things truly wrong with me. I'm a little sorry you're dead and never lived to see how tolerant times have become... though not perfect, I think you'd be the misfit today.

Stupid internet choked at home...

So today found me awake on short sleep - hung w/Vanasty for a bit before meeting my mother at Wal-Mart (I needed an oil change like it's nobody's business) and while the oil was changed, we ran errands (Dot's Diner, Office Max, etc) shopped a bit at the W-M and decided it was time to go home and take a nap.

And nap I did, I had the a.c. set unnaturally low so I huddled under a blanket and napped from 3:30 until after 9:00pm. When I woke up, bleary eyed and disjointed, sort of headachy too... I realized my internet had borked so I took myself to Z'otz and here is where I find myself right now.

Waiting to see if Blindfold is going to say hi at some point tonight... but I think I'm going to wind up at home in a few minutes, sleeping peacefully, and covered in dogs. Not a bad life really.

This week promises to be hellish - but it's just two weeks of hell.

Just two weeks...

Just two weeks...

And there is FUN FUN FUN to be had on the horizon... (even if there's not, I have to tell myself there is so I can get through the next two weeks.)

Here's a pic of me all bleary-eyed and tired at Z'otz only moments before packing it up and going home:

Last night I returned from the husband and wife, intent on writing perhaps my billionth post about how much I love the rain and how much I enjoyed driving home in the rain last night with that one view of the downtown skyline I love so much heading westward I suppose (I admit I never have gotten that pesky concept of North, South, East and West). The truth is I came home, watched some telly, and passed the hell out. Husband and wife were the perfect almost 4 hour end to a particularly hell-filled week. Had a bottle of our old delightful standby, the wife spun poi and enchanted us both with her gorgeous physique and lithe movements and we were mesmerized by her hips - and her spinning of the poi. Yeah. Caught up with them, the child, life in general. Discussed plans for Burning Man (it's a good thing they can't hear my thoughts when I get in the "how on earth will I ever survive a week in the desert" freakout mind spiral.)

I was awakened rudely by my bladder, at around 6 something this am. The dogs got all jumpy and happy thinking it was ZOMG OUTSIDE time but instead I staggered to the bathroom and I staggered back to bed.

At about 8:30is, I was awakened (blissfully) by a loud clap of thunder and immediate storms. I smiled and pulled the covers over me thinking "Mmmmmmmmm, blissful sleep in the rain." Really, while rain during the work week puts me in an unusually good mood (despite how cold it gets in my office without sunlight) rain on the weekends just blisses me out. So there I was, buried under covers when lightening boomed and I realized it was going to be a long storm...


and the dogs had not been let out since 11:30 last night.

Pukka and the rain is no big deal - she has no qualms about the rain, doing her business in the rain or running under the house to do her business. Jack on the other hand, is a persnickety old man. He went out onto the porch, paced back and forth, and refused to go down the stairs.

Long story short, his bladder or his bowels got the best of him and he began whining and packing and puffing so he went out. Both dogs came in, shook wet dog all over the place and tracked wet footprints all around.

Today I am looking forward to a date with Beignet. We're going to the Imax to see Hurricane on the Bayou then grab a bite to eat. Depending on how things go with him, I may or may not go over for fun and games with Bad Top (we're plotting and planning) and see what sort of trouble two gorgeous single gals can rassle up for ourselves.

but right now, I need to vacuum the front of this house and I'd rather lay in my bed and listen to the breeze blow and the water drip from the tree branches outside.

In the past, at another university, when I needed a new computer, there was the whole ordeal of getting budget approval, speccing the thing out, getting IT approval, ordering the thing, typing up the detailed purchase order (do not miss a single detail of what that machine will have on it, mind you) and then the order had to make the rounds to get four signatures from different departments.

Because of my troubles yesterday, the IT person was actually visiting me after lunch, said I had one of the older machines in the department, did I have time to spec out a new one, sure? And it should be here next week. Paid in full, no running all over campus, done deal.

Only thing is, while the computer will be sitting in its box in my office probably this time next week, I can't even think about taking it out of the box until at the very least, two weeks from Monday.

But at least it's handled. And virtually painlessly and within less than an hour. Amazing. I never really pull the "I'm the Dean's assistant" card and apparently, it turns out I don't have to. I was told that there is no excuse for me having to go through what I went through yesterday. While part of me grins smugly and thinks "DAMN RIGHT!" There is still another small happy part of me that feels like "Wow, this was no skin off my back."

Had lunch with a former work study student from previously mentioned university. I had some copies of a recommendation letter I wrote for her for grad school admission. We caught up on news and old friends over enchiladas, a burrito and some guacamole. We reminisced about the old office. I have to say, those were magical times in that office for that 7 year slice of time... truly magical times. I know you remember mrskeegin, and omnipotentjezka, good times indeed. I doubt I will ever have that much fun at a job ever again... but then again, I highly doubt any of us, student and staff, will ever be so grossly underpaid ever again in our lives.

I swear, there is no PC that will ever make me love my Mac any less. I have had problem after problem after problem with this thing, and in my last office, that machine was a PoS too. Now, back at my Loyola, my computer was tight as they come because I configured it, I kept it clean, I passworded it so no one else could put stuff on it, I ran ad-aware on it regularly. I'm pretty sure when I left, it was damn near as good as new for the next person who sat at that desk and probably trashed that computer out in less than a month's time...

But I have no idea how many hands have rested upon this doozy. All I know is I'm putting in for a new one sometime this summer...

and how I wish it could be a Mac.

In other news, went on a date last night. He was really nice, interesting, mature (but not too OLD,) confident in himself without being an arrogant, self-promoting jerkoff (like so many his age,) and handsome (despite his very slight stature.) Met for coffee, sat on the patio at PJ's for about an hour and 15 minutes, and are possibly meeting for dinner in the future. We'll see. Should I give him a nickname? Too soon to tell and besides, nothing is jumping out at me... Yes, hallelujah, he has a brain! I enjoy the ones w/the smarts. Only thing is he's said that he's looking with an eye to an eventual LTR and while I think on some level, when we date someone we maybe wonder "hmm, is this the one?" or "Could this be the one?" I used to be like that but now when I hear the R word, I become all tense, nervous, want to assert firmly and up-frontly that I am NOT in the market for a relationship. Anything or anyone who is, poses a threat to my hard fought and well won independence. Of course, that's not really true but that's how it feels when someone says to me, on a date or whatnot that one day they'd like to be in a Relationship again and all of a sudden it's like police car lights start going off in my head and sirens and alarms and buzzers. I sort of go on prison lockdown with the loud sound of iron gates slamming shut in my mind, and I get nervous and I want to say "Jesus, look at the time, I gotta go." I don't bolt, I ride it out. I don't know why I've become like that when I'm like the queen of the long-term monogamous relationship. I do long-term devotion really well, actually. It just scares me right now, terrifies me actually. It's worth investigating - another time.

In the meantime, hopefully getting with my husband and wife on Friday for some wine and scrabble, our relationship has changed a bit since the child began school and the wife resumed working. There is a lot less available time and energy. I really really miss our wine-soaked, poi-spinning, board game, introspective talks into the wee hours then eating something bready, cheesy or sweet before sending me home, kind of fun...

I am seeing Beignet this Saturday for some movie viewing and couch snuggling, possibly getting together with Bad Top after Beignet (possibly not, it's a long drive back from Beignet's) afterward in solidarity on needing a weekend breather from parties. Yes, a breather is in order. If there is such a thing as too much fun and too little sleep on the weekends, I'm the guilty one. In fact, despite my raging hormonal malaise over the past four days, I have GREATLY enjoyed the peaceful nights at home with nothing to do. I have to have my time to veg every so often or I'm just plum miserable.

Sunday finds me wide open (as usual) with no plans. Just the way a Sunday should be.

Oh yeah, there have been sporadic though interesting developments with Blindfold but I guess those should be in a separate post to maintain integrity.

A Classic by ol' Willie Shakes as read by Alan Rickman - lo, the video is cheesy, but that voice, that voice... Good lord... *falls over swooning*