After two weeks of a blog-less lifestyle, I'm having difficulty getting back into the swing of things. Allow me some time to acclimate.

Still haven't started the Great Big Welcome Back Post, wherein I divulge all the dirty details that you so love to hear--so I'll just do a quick overview:

Valentine's Day was great--chinese food and Threesome, but I think we've covered that, yeah? Next was my birthday, then two days later was Boy's--his dirty surprise? Heh. He got me a hotel room and an escort, and they fucked me silly. Oh, hush, let me bask in the glow a little longer, and then I'll spill the dirt.

...to be honest, I'm having a hard time remembering what happened over the last couple weeks. The whole time my weblog was down, I couldn't remember what day it was, what I'd had for lunch, where I'd parked my car...this is my memory, my past and my social calendar all rolled into one.

Hey, how about another from the email archive? From me, to Val:

From: Ferra
To: Val
Date: 21 Feb, 2002
Re: Here is what happens when my weblog is down...

...my emails tend to get longer and more involved, even though my audience in noticeably smaller.

>No sex was had, but there was some poorly-thought-out licking
>of icing off stomachs.

Icing = bad. In fact, I've found that most food has a very negative impact on my dirty-play. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, spicy hot mustard...they're messy and stain my crisp white sheets. Honey, though...definitely honey.

>By the way, what court date?

Court date: [omitted because he asked, and i agreed only because i love him, not because i want to. :P]

There's your story for today.

Although I'll tell you a secret: I have a MUCH JUICIER one pending, as today is my illustrious birthday--Boy has had a "surprise" in the works, and tonight it comes to fruition. I am nervous as all fucking hell, as it's something that could a) get me killed or b) get me jailed or c) just freak me out.

Happy Birthday to meeeee! My housewares buyer gave me this little bendy-magnet person named "Wendy Bendy", which is only funny because 1) I like bendy things. You should see what happens to stray paperclips on my desk. and 2) Wendy Bendy has a huge rack. So does my housewares buyer. And so do I, to a degree! Mine is more proportionate than my housewares buyer's rack, and hers, I'm almost certain, are fake. Really really well-done, but fake.

I had a dream last night that I was in a strip club (yay!) but the girl who was giving me a lap dance had big white scars instead of nipples (not yay!)

mwah,
ferra

...

Oh yeah. Boy's arraignment. I forgot all about it. It'll have to wait, I'm getting dirty looks from coworkers.

Einstein. I know. Here's what Conor had to say about it:

"I am glad your page is working again. I just thought that I would mention
something interesting about the conversation you had with your self concerning time. It is actually very similar to an extremely important conversation that Albert Eintstein had with himself while working as a patent clerk in Switzerland at the age of about 20. At that time, the laws of Newtonian physics which had proved valid and rigorous for almost 200 years were suddenly proving flase as people began to study the physical properties of Atomic particles and Radiation. I am not exactly sure how it works, but apprently time, which everybody assumed was constant through out the universe, required atomic particles and radiation energy to behave in a certain way under certain conditions. The particles and energy were not
behaving in the predicted way and lots of scientists were very frustrated.

So is seems to me that you were headed down the path of important discovery
while day dreaming at work, much the same way Einstein did 90 years ago."

Ha! See? someone thinks I'm a genius, even if YOU don't (:P beb.)

I HAVE RETURNED.

but work is busy. I'm working on a great big Welcome Back post, but I am forced to do it surreptitiously because I'm a team player!! Yeesh.

Anyway, I'm back. You missed my birthday (last thursday) (it was good, I've got an excellent story to tell) (no, no one sent me happy birthday email except Cate. bastards.) and some other important things, but that will all be covered in the G.B.W.B.P.

Here--have a post I wrote in serverless agony:

No need to explain server issues any further--suffice to say I've been dying without my weblog...dying, I tell you!

Actually, no. I've been keeping fairly busy, what with new roommate (and accompanying dogs) to get to know, work to be done (although not today--disregard every single mention of "slowest day ever", because today takes the cake. something about getting here at 730...I thought it would make the day go faster, I'd have an hour and a half without my boss peeking over my shoulder--but nothing on earth can convince me that I haven't been sitting at my desk for at least nine hours already...and it's only 130. See? The last six hours have taken a third longer than they're supposed to.

...and then it got me thinking--how do we know that time progresses at this singular rate, that a second never takes longer than...a second? Couldn't time concievably progress at relative speeds, faster for some and slower for others, depending on how freaking bored they are at their thankless job?\par

...and then I realized that the conversation I was having with myself [in my head, not out loud--the coworkers already think I'm rather batty] sounded a great deal like conversations illustrious stepfather will have with...well, anyone who'll listen--when he's good and toasted. He starts saying things like "We're made of nothing! When you boil it all down, in a figurative sense, not literal, don't go boiling people because that's trouble I can't get you out of, when you boil it all down, we're made of atoms which are made of nothing! Everything in the world is made of nothing!" and so forth.

...and then I stopped questioning why my day was dragging on so slowly, and got back to work.)

So, plenty keeping me busy. I've still taken the time to make some new pals along the way--Nate in particular, and found a new columnist that makes me almost crap myself with laughter (while the link itself is work-friendly, I wouldn't let your boss catch some of his headlines..."My Makeout Session With Watermelon Tits" is probably my favorite, especially when he makes the girl cry.

(c'mon, you shouldn't be surprised that I'd find him so damned entertaining!)

Roommate-wise, things are going well. She's quiet and considerate and wipes her dogs' feet--I hope that things continue to go well. To be honest, I can't imagine that they won't go well...unless we have more incidents like this:

Saturday morning, Boy and I spend a goodly bit of time doing the nas-tee. get up. shower, breakfast, etc. Putz around house as we are known to do. Leave the bedroom door(key part of story, as you can guess.). Roommate comes home, dogs in tow. Excited dogs. Running around sniffing everything because it's brand new to them dogs. Running into ourbedroom and sniffing at...the vibrator I'd accidentally left on the bedroom floor, which I didn't realize until the roommate went to grab the dog from the room and...There It Was.

Not that I have a problem with people seeing my vibrator, or knowing i have/use one, etc. but having our New And Slightly Conservative Roommate come face-to-face with my vibrator...(again, figuratively. I don't want her coming with my vibrator, we are NOT that close. In fact, I pretty much don't want anyone using it besides me. Sometimes Boy. Mostly Me. All more than you Needed To Know.)

...

I'll be back. Some more, I mean. I'm not actually going anywhere, my ass is firmly planted here at my desk today. I just want to reassure you that I'll be here, if you need me, if you need entertainment. I know that you're shaky, you didn't know where I'd gone, or when I would be back or why I'd even left in the first place (nowhere, couldn't have told you, server was busted. pretty simple.)...and I'm willing to work at it, to earn your trust back--that is how much I Care.

only...seconds...left...before...server...goes...gonzo...again...must...type...quickly!

So yeah, as Jay so succintly told me, "Your server's hosed". Why, yes! Yes, it is! Boy's been working on it between screwing me silly and his first court appearance (yeah, it was my fault), but it won't likely be fixed until the weekend, maybe. Dunno. In the meantime, be patient! And make me some no-bake cheesecake. I fucking love that shit.

Also, I got Boy to tell me what my birthday surprise is--but I think I'll keep my mouth shut until it's happened.

Suffice to say it's highly illegal, and highly dirty. Jealous? Ohhhh yeah.

...

(i miss you guys. really. and thanks for the concern/outrage/offers of assistance. send me mail and tell me you love me.)

Server problems, work is crazy-busy, and it was valentine's day. All seems to be well for now, but I anticipate more problems.

With the server. and probably work. valentine's day couldn't have been much better, and do you know why?

Because we spent it together. pulled a Cate and Conor and got takeout and soft-core pr0n (Threesome, worst. movie. ever.), and fell asleep together.

When you're this in-love, every day is Valentine's Day.

Here went my afternoon, between two-day rush wovens orders (yea, tho I be busy, I still may email.):

after numerous emails comprised entirely of the Song Game (you know, one person quotes a lyric, then the next person takes a significant word from that lyric---not "the" or "an" or the like--and quotes a lyric containing said significant word), we attempted to play email tic-tac-toe, which started off brilliantly:

       |       |

       |       |

-------------------

       |       |

       |       |

-------------------

       |       |

       |       |

> | | X
>>O | |
>-----------------------------
> | O |X
>> | |
------------------------
|X |O
> | |

Is how things eventually ended up. Someone (meaning not-me) needs to make some sort of email-tictactoe game that WORKS. I NEED IT.

...then came the Would You Rather Game...

From: Blondie
Sent: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:09 PM
To: Ferra
Subject: We Are Dorks.

ok we can't play that game anymore cuz it came
back with x's and o's everywhere! yikes!
So would you rather do busta rhymes or martha stewart?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Subject: Still Dorks
Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:10:13 -0800

I would totally rather do Busta. Martha's so uptight,
I can't imagine doing her would be any fun.

would you rather do Neil Diamond or Lou Diamond Phillips?

From: Blondie
Sent: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:12 PM
To: Ferra
Subject: Big big dorks.

Lou Diamond Phillips, cuz I can still picture him in
La Bamba. Sexy guitar players rock!

would you rather do jason priestley or luke perry?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Subject: Yeah. Dorks.
Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:13:27 -0800

Hrm...Probably luke perry because he was in the original
Buffy--besides, Jason priestly is such a wanna-be, doing speedballs
at the Viper Room because he heard River Phoenix did.

Would you rather do Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire?

From: Blondie
Sent: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:18 PM
To: Ferra
Subject: We're freaks, too.

Hmm...that's difficult, probably Fred Astaire cuz he was
damn sexy and boy can he dance.

Can I change my answer to them both at the same time?

would you rather do david boreanez as good angel or bad angelus?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Subject: Horny freaks.
Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:18:39 -0800

DEFINITELY as Angelus. Screw this "vampire with a soul" business.

but I'd still take spike over angel any day. Did you watch buffy last night?

Would you rather do the old, funny geeky Xander or
the new beefcake construction worker xander?

From: Blondie
Sent: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:22 PM
To: Ferra
Subject: freeeeeeks.
I didn't watch Buffy, I was pissed, what happened?

I would do construction Xander cuz he looks better now.
Although I liked his cute sensitive side when he and Willow were kissing
in that warehouse place a few seasons ago.

would you rather do john cusack as lloyd dobler
or hit man in grosse pointe blank?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Subject: no thanks
Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:28:48 -0800

So Dawn's been getting pissier and pissier and getting all klepto--and
this episode was supposed to be Buffy's birthday, so dawn went out
and jacked this really nice leather coat for a present because she's
been feeling like no one pays attention to her anymore. So everyone's
at the house for buffy's birthday, and Anya's friend the vengeance demon
shows up and grants Dawn's wish for everyone to stop leaving...which
trapped then in the house...with a demon that Buffy thought she killed
(earlier in the show, she killed the demon with it's own magickal sword
and it got sucked into the sword instead of dying)...the demon showed
up because buffy brought the sword home before the party--and then when
they all realized that they were trapped, Tara tried to do a releasing spell but all it did was release the murderous demon. It was kind of boring, the whole episode, but they all finally found out about Dawn being a klepto.

That was a very confusing synopsis.

And it shouldn't be much of a question: Martin Q. Blank ALL THE WAY. Men with guns and deep-seated neuroses are dead S-E-X-Y.

Fat Bastard or Fat Albert?

From: Blondie
Sent: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:37 PM
To: Ferra
Subject: This damned weblog post will! not! end!

ugg! do i have to answer this question?

probably fat albert, cuz seeing fat bastards belly in the spy who shagged me made me sick to my stomach. i still picture his greasy mouth with that chicken leg in it.

would you rather do will ferrell or chris katan?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Sent: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:39:05 -0800

I would like to be the meat in a chris kattan and will ferrell sandwich.

Ben or Chris? hehehehe

From: Blondie
To: Ferra
Date: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:41 PM

Ben...i've already been there, and Chris just freaks me out.

karl or murdock? oh wait i already know the answer to that one!

robbie or joel?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Sent: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:42:08 -0800

Actually...it used to TOTALLY be Karl (file that one under DUH), but I think Murdock.

And probably Joel. Because I'm a glutton for punishment.

Koffi or Dan? ;-)

From: Blondie
To: Ferra
Date: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:46 PM

that's just wrong, but definetly dan. i kinda had a small crush on him
when i was like 14 or 15.

yeah sometimes i wish i had sex with joel, espiecially that night
on new year's. too bad he was throwing up.

would you rather do bono or robbie fulks?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Sent: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:50:11 -0800

Ack! Why must you make me choose? bastards. Probably
Robbie Fulks--I'm less likely to contract syphillis from excessive groupie-shagging.

Robbie Williams or William Kelley-Kamp? heh.

From: Blondie
To: Ferra
Date: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 2:53 PM

DIRTY!!

Definetly Robbie Williams, he's got a sexy british accent, he's in a band,
although I would probably get herpes! I've learned from you not to sleep
with Willy. Yuck!

would you rather do graham or grant manderino?

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Sent: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:54:31 -0800

TOTALLY Grant Mandarino. Bitter and irritable men are soooo hawwwtt.

From: Blondie
To: Ferra
Sent: Wednesday, February 13, 2002 3:09 PM

You are silly!

From: Ferra
To: Blondie
Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 15:12:13 -0800

it's all that sexin' in the champagne room.

speaking of champagne rooms--Boy is planning some secret surprisey
thing for my birthday and he won't tell me what it is!! the only hint
he'll give me is that it's "dirty-hot".

I hope we're not going to go molest cheerleaders.

I mean, the cheerleader part would be hot, but not the going-to-jail part.

From: Blondie
To: Ferra

umm, just say no to molestation.

i wonder what he's planning too! it should be interesting, wow i just
realized that in a week you will be 22. heh i might as well commit you to
an old folks home!

From: Ferra
To: Blondie

I HAVE WRINKLES. UNDER MY EYES AND TINY ONES ON MY FOREHEAD.

...

and then I freaked out and did some work until I left the office at 3:45. If there is a God in Heaven, He will make sure my boss never finds this.

...

holy fuckshit, that took forEVER to write. all that cutting and pasting and protecting our identities. So tired. So much laundry. must...sleeepaalknasodun b a;sdfnasdg

Be My Anti-Valentine: Prime example of why I'm half-in-love with Meg.

That evil, evil man I call my boyfriend is torturing me...by planning a surprise for my birthday and not just telling me what he's got planned. Bastard! (no ass-face, though--his cheeks are too sweet!)

If you have any knowlege of this event, do tell me, or I'll lose my mind.

Yesterday (and I know this will be big and exciting news to one and all) I sneezed. In the process of doing so (it's not a very big process), I managed to bite my cheek, way back towards my slowly-creeping wisdom teeth (bastards). You know what comes next in this story, don't you? (I mean after the bleeding has stopped) I've bitten that same damned spot about eighty-thousand more times since then. Owwwww.

...

The entirety of today's blogging is devoted to Cate because she knows the pain of a boring workplace.

Although it didn't used to be boring, Ahtell-yuwhut. Remember? Go read the June archives.

...

Speaking of archives, I think I need to update mine. (goes, looks, returns) Nope! It does it automatically? Holy crap. I (heart) MovableType.

...

I (heart) Boy, too. (and parentheseses.)

...

but mostly Boy.

Since I told Cate already this morning, I might as well tell the rest of you: Read the Sagbottom Home For Wayward Girls. Do it! Even if you're not a girl. Or wayward. Every single day, I love her journal more and more and more until I get all dizzy.

Secret Confession Time: I have the hugest Jamie Oliver crush, and it's only worsened since he did that episode where he cooked dinner with Jamiroquai, my other biggest-rockstar-crush (besides Bono and the Edge and Robbie Fulks and Ryan Adams and Liam Gallagher [hey, i was sixteen and they were big then] and Liz Phair and...yeah.). Last night, Jamie went back to his old grammar school and taught a bunch of little british turds to make chicken in a foil bag and creme brulée and something involving toast, and I could just imagine all the little schoolgirls in their horrid uniforms and smocks having the BIGGEST crushes on Jamie. I told Boy, "He's so much cuter with this new haircut!" to which he replies, "Sure, until he his mouth and you see his teeth,". Um. That's right.

Curse you, Jamie, you and your big...ass face!!

Most profound apologies--but I must tell you: Doing two weeks' worth of work in TWO DAYS takes a bit outta me. And that bit is blogging.

I think I'm in withdrawal.

...

Had this dream last night that Boy and I went to Canada for our birthdays or for an anniversary or something significant like that and stayed in this tudor-style bed and breakfast with a muddy golf course, and somehow I ended up having sex with his friend Russell while Boy was in bed next to us. Then I went on a space station to do some orange-peel mining (do NOT ask, I haven't the slightest idea what that is) and became the first woman commander at the Space Academy.

I was all stressed out about it, and the mining, because it meant I'd have to wear rubber boots--then JPak said, "They don't make rubber boots in your size", so I asked this woman crew member what size HER feet were, and they were a 10.5 so I looked at MY feet and they were a size 16 (thank you, Peggy Hill). I told the person who was organizing the mining expedition that I couldn't go because rubber boots wouldn't fit over my (pointing at my feet) ferragamos.

Also involved in this dream was sex with some 19 year old bad girl who had been on vacation with her parents at the same tudor-style (and when I say "tudor-style" I mean "run in the manner of the tudor era, complete with stone-rush floors and no indoor plumbing") B&B--Boy had sex with her, then I had sex with her, then jpak had sex with her and then she ran away and became a stripper.

My brain is tiiiired.

...

Met with the conservative next-door neighbors last night--they want us to housesit for them next week while they head to Hawaii. While I would otherwise say no-thanks, they're leaving their toy poodle with us as well! Fluffy (boy, it doesn't get more cliché'd than that) is freaking hilarious, I'm sure it'll be a good time. I'm a little concerned about a week without TiVo and Tropico, but then I remember that we'll just be next door. Yeesh.

They're odd people, though--I'm not exactly comfortable with the husband, and the wife knows too many people for me to be comfortable with her. "Knows too many people" in the "knows my stepfather" sort of way.

Too many euphemisms today.

...

For those of you who live in a cave, Valentine's Day is tomorrow (although if you live in a cave and still have internet access, then you're probably in good shape. So long as you have a mailbox, Boy's company will deliver) and I'm still a little unsure about what to get the Boy. Ack! I shouldn't even admit that, I'll lose my standing as World's Best Girlfriend. However, even if I fail on the gift side of things, my supersecretstealth plan is right on schedule. Muahahahahahaha.

I don't do so well with the evil laugh. I'll stick to malevolent chuckling from now on.

...

Things. Must be done. Now.

words cannot describe how busy I am.

Another day where it's almost noon and I've yet to blog. Didn't my prolific Sunday-blogging count for anything? It's comforting but very very weird to get email and/or instant messages checking to see if I'm alright if I haven't blogged by 11 on a weekday.

You're paying too-close attention to my every move.

...

Didn't get to bed as early as I would have liked last night, and do you know why? Because we were having sssseeexxxx. THANK GOD. My brain was this. close. to exploding.

Also, we watched the Man Show (twice), and I think I was more offended than I've ever been by it. Now, you know me--I'm the last girl on earth who'd call herself a feminist--I happen to enjoy the objectivication of women (and men, for that matter)...But it was the phrase "...then I went home and raped my beanbag chair. that thing had it coming since I brought it home" coming from Adam Corrolla's mouth...ecch. Nasty.

But juggies dressed like vegas showgirls....Yum!

...

Difficult time concentrating today. Sun is bright, and my office is cold. Listening to Clair de Lune. Faint strains of Britney from a coworkers desk. So tired. must...sleeeeepszzlkj;aosdfn

And so, to the movies I went.

It was brilliantly done, in the sense that the lighting and the weather and the swordfights fell together in a way that made me think that if I got on a plane to Marseilles right now, I would land in a city that was lost to centuries past.

I have never been to Marseilles.

Allons, enfants. I could sing three verses of that song, and never skip a beat or lose a note.

Two things on my mind, in a vague fashion:

1) We watched Ronin on Friday night--I'd never seen it before. After they'd pulled off the heist, with the guy who did the driving laid up in their tiny hideout-flat in Nice, Robert DeNiro's character goes wandering in the town to...do something, I don't remember. The movie is set in the winter, pre-christmas--there's a choir in the town square with everyone gathered to listen and admire--and suddenly I'm singing along with an old french carol...

"Il est ne le divine enfant
Jouez au boit
resonez musette..."

No joke. Quite odd, considering I hadn't given more than a passing moment's worth of thought for the song since I was...what, twelve?

2) Can't stop thinking of France. All of it. It's everywhere.

...

What a stupid freakin' thing to say, "can't stop thinking of France".

Although it's slightly easier to deal with this obsession than with those unending thoughts of ssssseeeexxxxx. At least with France, all I need is a slice of brie and an amandine to get it out of my system (takes approximately 37 seconds after consuming to remind me that if I still lived in Europe, my heart would shudder to a stop.)

I'm surprised at how lonely it is sometimes, being half of one thing--the other half stops talking or seeing and it's like the lights have just gone off. He's just angry, I know this--and not even at me--but it's a helpless feeling, not being able to make him happy again.

...

It's been a long and tiring couple of...whenevers. Days? Weeks? something like that. I'm going to a movie with my mother in a bit--it'll be nice to have this little bit of time with her before illustrious stepfather comes back from the Olympics with Kid Sis. I bet they're having a grand old time, event after event--I wonder, sometimes, if we'd gotten along better in my youth--would he have taken me on trips like this, just the two of us? I remember the first trip the two of us took together--We stayed in Boston and drove all over the Eastern Seaboard looking at schools when I was sixteen. I'd just started college back at home, and he insisted that as soon as I'd finished my highschool graduation requirements, I was headed off to an ivy league institution. Very well-meaning, wanting me to have the things he had to work so hard for--but the more schools I saw, the more campus tours I took...It wasn't right for me, I couldn't stomach the idea of being so far from home and for so long.

I didn't fear homesickness or strange environments--I was afraid I'd never want to come back.

...

I'm still here. And they're leaving, only five months to go. They'll pack their stuff, get on the boat, and hardly look back. Mom asked me if I would take responsibility for selling their house, the house they've lived in for ten years and still don't call Home. It's been a holding tank, somewhere they sleep and eat but have never felt comfortable in. I'll be glad to see it go--I can't visit without wanting to just burn it to the ground.

They'll leave on their trip, and when the governor calls they come home...to what? To the cabin, quickly turning into a mountain compound--it's as easy a commute to the capitol from there as it would be from the city, maybe easier. Mom will stay home, or maybe go back to school (again), and Kid Sis will learn about school in rural towns, and illustrious stepfather will make sure she goes to Harvard and I'll...be here. Still.

It's safe and cozy. Familiar.

...

The movie with Mom will be nice. Every phone call, every lunch, every one of my sister's basketball practices and every game of DOA3 with the boys--they're so much more poignant, because in five months, nothing will be the same. The family will leave and the boys will grow up and I will still be here.

...

I keep trying to move on from that thought--focusing on Now, and not Later. It's very very difficult.

She's had a nice couple of days, too, my mom--no one to feed or clothe or drive around. She went to a movie last night--by herself--to which Buddy said, "That's sad." I insist it's something that she wants. No obligations and nothing to schedule, just days and days of nothing.

If I'd been taking care of things all my life, I'd want that, too.

I worry that I won't get the swing of it, when I grow up and have a family, that I'll never manage to schedule kids and husband and work and laundry and grocery shopping and three square meals a day, that eventually it will make me go bonkers and drive off, leaving dinner on the stove and carrying nothing but a beach towel, a book, and a bottle of white rum. Or a handgun and a bottle of valium. I'm not as strong as she is, I don't have the drive or the courage anymore. Sometimes it feels like she doesn't, either--she talks about how it's so hard to get out of bed in the morning, but if she doesn't take care of things, who will?

Did you ever dream about your parents dying, and wonder what would happen? For me, it was twice the dying and half of the ability to cope--more accurately, I would dream that mother and stepfather were killed, usually on a trip where they'd left us at home (heightened, of course, by things like: being in the WTC during the 1993 bombing. Being in SF during the '89 World Series Earthquake. Being AT the series, I mean. Right there. crumbling stadium and all.). Part of me always figured that I would have to take care of the others, that my father would be useless--maybe he would have stepped up to the plate...but it's likely he wouldn't. I had visions of having to get a special drivers' license at 12 to take my brother to school, or just drop out altogether after the kid sis was born.

it still feels that way sometimes--like they'll never survive without me there, pushing at things, reminding my mother that vitriolic hatred for my father is doing nothing but giving her high bloodpressure. Five months, and she'll never have to deal with him again, which seems odd to me--he's been a part (albeit a pain-in-the-ass-part) of her life for...almost thirty years? Good christ. And then when Buddy graduates, her obligation to listen to him, even when he's being a fuckwit (and he can be a fuckwit, letmetellyou.)...is Over. No more placating him so he'll pay child support on time, no more stressing over his passive-aggressive games.

I know that they'll be fine on this trip. I think that's part of the problem--knowing I'm still an expendible unit, on some level. If things are going to happen, they're going to happen--and my being there won't change that.

...

I still think they should install a cannon on the foredeck.

Practically content-less blogging yesterday--I'd apologize, but Blondie and I had such fun taking those quizzes. I'll admit to being surprised about the waffles-thing...I was sure I'd be Pop-Tarts.

Spent four hours yesterday playing Tropico. The madness MUST end soon, or I'll use all my vacation time staying home and playing that game. Yeesh.

...

New roommate is on her way--we're off to look at the storage unit I found earlier this week...$55/mo. seems like waaay too good a deal, but we'll check it out anyway.

My pants smell like fajitas.

Because I know how much Nigel likes them...today is now designated Quiz Day!

Which British Band Are You?

Uh. Okay.

Which David Bowie are you?

Eeee! Yay! I love me some David Bowie.

Which Spice Girl Are You?

Hey Blondie, what's Graham been upto lately? And where's my little Gucci dress?

No surprise, is it?

Which drink are you?

Oh, shut up.

Take the Monopoly Piece Quiz!

I LOVE it when these work out right.

Take the Which Breakfast Food Are You? Quiz.

Uh.

See which Greek Goddess you are.

more Uh.

Which Internal Organ are you? Find out at willaston's lounge!

Okay, that's enough self-discovery. I need a shower.

Which John Cusack Are You?

I don't see it, but I'm just following the meme.

Awwshit. Who did I get that from? Hrm. Wasn't one of my regulars, I'll tell you that much.

...

Many thanks to Chuck of Six Different Ways for the nine acts of cunnilingus he donated--they came in handy last night when I was so wired I thought my heart would burst. It finally came down to me telling Boy, "If you don't fuck me now, I'll die", which is likely a grand overstatement, but we all know I'm prone to those.

Why such a keyed up end to my looong day? We had The Confrontation with the Roommate last night, ended the entire three month nightmare with a wink and a smile....on my part. But that was just more of me fucking with him. Boy was furious, insisted that the roommate move out this weekend and return his keys on Sunday, and I had pretty much been in the same mindset...And then, just to add to the roommate's paranoia (he's convinced--rightly so--that I'm going to fuck his shit up), I said "No, wait! I think it would be a Good Idea if he stayed, sweetie" with a weird kindof-nutso-grin. I'm sure that he's expecting the worst...but I'll one-up him by doing nothing at all. That way, he'll think everything that happens to him is my fault, but I won't have to do any of the work!!

Or, I'll hire my brothers to go slash his girlfriend's tires. We'll see.

Glad to finally have the damned confrontation, though. I had a lot of pent-up rage about the experience of living with him (well duh, I hear collectively. Sorry folks. No more!), and even if it was an essentially fruitless conversation, it felt good to tell him "Excuse me, but you are a shitty roommate." Very satisfying. After it was over, we were both shaking with adrenaline, but Boy needed to do some breathing...so i kept myself occupied until he was ready to join the party, heh.

No more, folks. No More.

The New Roommate moves in next Friday, for which I am eternally grateful--we're going to go look at storage units tomorrow, as we've all got skeletons that need to be locked away in a cold dark place where no one can find them...

Actually, she's got a sofa and I've got two dressers that just won't fit in the house.

I keep my skeletons firmly buried in the side garden.

...

Oh, and did I mention? Home from work today. Partially because we want to keep an eye on the house before the roommate moves out, and partially because I was freaking tired and there was nothing at work today that demanded my attention--might as well take advantage of the opportunity to stay home and....Do Laundry! (play Tropico.) No, seriously. Laundry will be done. Not that much to wash, necessarily...but the folding and putting-away is intimidating. Dinner and bowling tonight with Dave and Quincy (whom I've enlisted to help with the big Valentine's Day surprise for Boy! Yay!), so I called my brothers to see if they'd hang out here tonight while we're gone--they'll jump at the chance to play x box and drink cuervo. If I find any weird stains on the sofa, they're dead.

What an unbearably long day.

After tonight, no more hate, no more strife, no more lying awake at night plotting revenge of the bloody sort. Or of the non-bloody sort.

Then the Psd to HTML or PSD to CSS conversion is carried out by hard coding the image to fit into HTML frames or layers

Fool, that roommate. He tried playing his one card (if I haven't explained, or if you've forgotten or just showed up--welcome--here's the deal: While in the course of cheating on his girlfriend, he found my Nerve personal and decided that the best idea would be to try to either a) blackmail me with it, or b) attempt to ruin my relationship with Boy by informing him of it. Little did he know, Boy sat right there all those months ago and watched as I wrote said ad. He's taken full advantage of it as well, reaping the benefits, blah blah blah. Fool.) and emails Boy with stupid little hints, quoting from my ad. Boy says, What the hell are you talking about (he's playing dumb, you see, trying to get the roommate to play first. my boy is SO SMART!)? Roommate emails him back with a link to my ad, at which point Boy, the Smartest Fucking Bastard On Earth (I mean that in a very very loving way.), says the equivalent of "back the fuck up, muthafucka, or i'll tell your bitch about you playing around on her" which sent me into absolute paroxysms of glee.

Glee.

But it's all still very very tiring. I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years--but not until he moves out. Dad's changing the locks this weekend, praise allah, and I'll be slashing his girlfriend's tires on Monday, after they've all moved out. Yippee!

...

No, those were just ha-ha's--No tire slashing, no sleeping for a thousand years, and I don't really mean it when I praise allah. Praise Nordstroms...now THAT I mean.

...

Now. Rebuild my Tropico. El Presidente is coming, my people!

Just for Zeke (bastard): Not a single post today.

Other than this one.

hahahaha, just kidding. Me not-posting would mean the world had ended! Or that I'd gone to Florida for six days!

...

Speaking of--Another Sign I'm Becoming A Grown-up: I'm scheduling my vacations months and months in advance, and I'm sort-of planning it around theng of one of our new stores.

Um. Does this mean I sort of have a...career? Yikes.

...

Had this dream last night that I was shopping for cowboy costumes for Kid Sis's class play--but somehow ended up taking her and her little friend into a local sexshop instead, where one of my ex-lovers worked. (It was the law student, a very very nice young man--but dating anyone in the legal profession is the same: job/studying first, everything else is secondary. And I can't imagine him working in a vibrator store, he went to Grinnell for chrissakes.). I was freaking out the whole time, kid sis and her friend running around playing swordfight with big colorful vibrators, and then I accidentally bought the floor model for this one I'd been looking at and it was all gross and dirty but you can't return those things!! Stressful.

It's kind of been a theme lately, no? (not the sex toys, I'm talking about stress. Although if things don't shape up soon, sextoys WILL be a theme, *ahem*. Hint. hint hint hint, Boy.) Anyway, stress. It takes a LOT of work to maintain a stance of righteous ire and seething rage. I am exhausted from it...and we haven't even begun the devious end of things. Aside from my snipping every other stitch in the seams of his pants. I might not see the damage, but I'll know it happened, which is enough for me.

Besides, if we want damage: Watching the fallout from revealing his infidelity will be entertaining enough. It'll be better than teevee!!

...

I had the best damned game of Tropico going last night--I'd figured out the money cheat, and had all kinds of tourist stuff going on, my people were pretty happy and healthy and hard-working and...then it crashed. Before I'd saved.

I should make some joke about civilisations built in a day.

...

We figured out our plan for our birthday weekend last night. Sort of. Well, we talked about it, which is something. I like the idea of heading to Victoria for the weekend, especially in the off-season. Victoria is nice in the summer, but man do I hate tourists. Even if I am one.

...

So. Damned. Slow.

Everything, that's what!

grah.

Had a dream last night wherein I was meeting Boy and Blondie at Old Navy after my haircut (although once I got to the salon Derek told me that my hair was perfect--and it was--and he refused to touch it. Um. Who's Derek?), and I got there and it was packed, people all over the place, and it turned out to be a prison in disguise! so we had to escape (I think Blondie just walked out--she disappeared, anyway)--but we'd all been turned into bugs. We started tunneling though this wall of pudding, and when we'd scooped a layer away there were already tunnels, but they were gooey and sticky-sweet, because we were inside a giant candy bar.

...

Very productive morning at the warehouse, but I'm missing 55 salad plates. How does that happen?! How do you lose 55 salad plates?? Grah.

...

Excellent News: Got the Roommate to sign the Lease Amendment last night, Mom witnessed and notarized while Boy explained everything, and I held a very firm stance of fuming silence, arms crossed and defiant stare. He started packing last night and should be gone by Sunday, yippee! Now, to put in motion my plan to ruin his relationship with his girlfriend, bankrupt him and get his boss to fire his ass.

My work-crush says I'm being needlessly vindictive. I insist that he's brought this upon himself.

another crush tells me why we're so suited for eachother: It is not enough that we succeed--we must see our enemies crushed and bleeding as well.

...

I need to do it, and right. now. My hormones are going crazy, which is perhaps what led me to add a button to my website that invites you to donate acts of cunnilingus.

...

and I need to stop reading my roommate's brain, because the things he says are so very, very not-nice. Bastard. With his ASS FACE!!

So you know: I have to do a warehouse visit this morning. No big amusing update until I return. Or possibly even later.

Amuse yourself with links, or by sending me Oral Sex. Yay!

So many nefarious plans in mind, and so little time.

Also: Had a dream last night that I attended a Relationship Excellence workshop with my parents last night--it was disturbing, particularly when it was suddenly a movie set, and I was the star of the film--but I had no idea what my lines were. They dumped me in a dirty swimming pool and told me to just feel, utilize my experience as a drowning victim (huh?)...and then I realized I was in hell.

Hell for me is a "Relationship Excellence" seminar (whatever the hell that is. do those exist, or did I make it up?) with my parents and dirty swimming pools.

...

Another dream I had recently featured a very made-up product: It was a flat-screen monitor that came in three panels, with the middle panel being a normal flatscreen, and the two side panels that sort of fanned out had the ability to be folded in and latched together, like the cover of an overly-ornate book. I like the concept, though. I could always use more screen space.

...

I've stopped freaking out about going away for our birthdays in two weeks--I didn't want to leave the house free for the roommate to destroy in our absence--now I realize that I've only got a week until Valentine's Day and two weeks before we're supposed to go...somewhere. Who knows where, at this point. Boy always manages to get me the sweetest presents, perfect for the occasion, etc. I think my Valentine's idea will be a hit, but I'm at a loss for birthday ideas. For now.

...

blah blah blah. I'm feeling ever so apathetic today, and I'm not sure why. As much as I am overwhelmed with vicious glee at the prospect of a good fucking-over for the soon-to-be-ex-roommate...it's kind of disheartening. Why couldn't it just have worked, instead of ending in a huge fiery crash? Stupid stupid boy, that roommate. He's a user, and it's disgusting--but if we don't teach him a lesson, who will?

O, how glorious the morning be.

No, seriously.

First: New Roommate confirmed. Met her dogs (yes, plural, but they're freaking adorable) (and she's very amenable to cleaning up after them. yay!), discussed sharing a storage unit, blahdeedah. Current Roommate has been informed He Must Move By the Fifteenth. Fucker. We told him right as he walked in the door last night--he went directly upstairs to a nasty argument with the girlfriend.

Much gloating on our behalf.

Second: I'd forgotten just How Good Jamiroquai's Travelling Without Moving album is.

Thirdly: I think I should start keeping my toothbrush elsewhere--the roommate's girlfriend was giving me some nasty looks last night, perhaps stemming from my not-so-subtle comments as she leaves the room...She showed up last night when the roommate wasn't home--Boy the door and says, "He's not home", then she brushes past him muttering something about basketball and I just give my patented death-glare. As she heads upstairs to his pit of filth, I make all manner of pissy remarks, which is earning me no points with her. You can only guess how much I care.

...

I lost my first game of Tropico last night--after reigning as a mostly-benevolent dictator for 42 years (I'll admit--I had to kill that Venezualan priest, he was a great source of dissent and was encouraging my islanders to revolt--but that didn't stop me from winning all three elections where he tried to run against me), I lost my seventh election to a member of the communist faction--I think it had something to do with being almost $30k in debt (which is HUGE in Tropico, where rent is a dollar a month. I want to move there.). The World Bank capped all my workers' salaries (not that it was doing much good--I had this HUGE Teamsters' office that never earned a dollar, cost me forty grand actually--but every time I fired people they just kept coming back) and Russia stopped sending me money because the leader of the communist faction told them I was soft on wage equality. Bastards. I should have had her killed, too.

It was a good gig though, while it lasted--even if I never installed a power plant, rendering my entire island electricityless.

I was going for the rustic look, anyway. I'm sure the goat farms in the middle of the tourist district helped.

...

ended the night with slow and silent sex to U2's Best Of album, me on top moving slowly until we both went up in flames--simultaneous orgasms have long been my trademark (which sets me up for confused email from ex-lovers saying 'I thought it was x', or from readers saying 'i thought it was the cowboy hat', but let me tell you--nothing compares to this feeling where the only thing you can hear or feel or taste is Us, where you are fused together in a grim mockery of death--and I would rather be known to my former and current lovers as the Girl Who Made Me Explode.). We slept cocooned for the entire night, waking in the same position we'd fallen asleep in. These nights are rare, and cherished.

...

Lastly: A note of condolence to Coop, and a message of hope to Cate. They make me wish I was a better person. And I mean that in the most sincere way.

More flattery from Val:

"Not that I suspect you of being gullible or anything . . . just: Life is really kinda dangerous, and you seem sweet. A little pervy, a little defiant, but sweet, and definitely deserving of the warm glow one can only get from a clean conscience."

Oh, blush!

This amuses me: a new reader found me doing an askjeeves search on "How To Be Popular In High School".

Boy-o-boy, have you come to the wrong place.

Not that I was unpopular, mind you--I just didn't...spend much time there. And I was something of a snotty bitch, if you'll remember correctly. There were three kinds of people who went to my school: My Friends (a fairly tightly-knit group, but well-meaning and relaxed. Musicians and drama queens--but not in the gothy or angsty way--and then Nicole, who excelled in absolutely everything with an unequaled grace and a defiant sneer. I miss her. If you know where she is, do let me know.), The Other People (which consisted entirely of the rest of the student body: freaks, losers, and assholes, with subcategories and I could go on and on, but why?), and then Me. I was law unto myself, and there was little the administration could do to stop me, especially after I started college. (that was during highschool, mind you. of COURSE they couldn't do anything after I graduated. Sheesh.)

I wouldn't call it popularity, though, even if I did play the part of princess spectacularly well.

Aaaaaaand--It's Monday.

Again.

Weren't we just here a few minutes ago? Time seems to be passing faster now that I'm creeping towards incontinence and gray hair. And wrinkles, let's not forget those.

Although I've only got myself to blame for that--perhaps if I'd take my glittery eyeshadow and sooty eyeliner off before going to bed (to say nothing of that damned waterproof mascara) (I have to say, though--if I could guarantee that I wouldn't get one of my superlong lashes in my eye at any point during the day--it happens more often than you'd think--then I'd stop wearing waterproof and start wearing mascara that is removed with something less than an acetylene torch.) (I don't use a blowtorch, in case you thought I was serious [you shouldn't, this isn't that sort of post]--i just leave it on and when it comes off, it comes off--usually on my 340 threadcount sueded egyptian cotton pillowcases. Which is what started this: I don't take my eye makeup off after a night out, and it'll give me wrinkles.)

Yes.

...

Totally TOTALLY spaced on the SWUD activity for saturday night--A bunch of Seattle-area webloggers getting together and drinking and I knew it was this weekend, but then I lost my mind.

...

Boy is now keeping his toothbrush in his bathrobe pocket, on the off-chance that the roommate will remember my tale of revenge (wherein I wreaked all manner of havoc on my former [and completely psychotic] ex-roommate when I was moving out. I had my brother take all the screws and bolts out of her bedframe and then put it back together, then he left raw shrimp in her shoes in the back of her closet--also, he put them down the back of sofa and pushed it up against the wall [she had two bastard cats who made my life hell while I lived there, and it's her fault for not getting them fixed. She said "They're both girls and they'll never go outside, so I don't have to waste the money on getting them fixed". Bitch. I had Mom let the air out of all of her tires and superglue the caps back on, and I was responsible for the crowning glory--my trademark clean-the-toilet-with-her-toothbrush bit.)

I remain mostly immune to his paranoia. But I thoroughly douse my toothbrush in bleach before using it.

That's a lie. I use the acetylene torch.

...

Work now. Likely to be a blog-heavy day. For which you all should shout, 'Hurrah!'. Do it. Right now. In front of everyone, and if you can show me proof, I will give you a prize. I accept .jpgs and letters of forced resignation as evidence.

Nothing like watching the Super Bowl to make the last four hours of the weekend strrreeeeetttch. It's official--I've now watched more football today than I've ever watched in my life. Admittedly, I haven't paid much attention since the first-quarter novelty wore off--made nachos, critiqued commercials, went gonzo for the U2 Halftime Show (Oh, Bono. I do love you so.) and then made pecan pie for boy--Quincy laughed and called me "apron-y"--and sadly, it was true. I've spent all afternoon in an apron. Blue and white striped.

I think that if Britney looked all 1958-like all the time, I'd be her biggest fan. Something about that sweater set made me want to dirty her.

...

Post-game wrap-ups should be outlawed. Also, letting football players speak. No more of that.

...

We've started a landwar with the roommate--what do we care, right? We got his rent for the month, and we've pretty much assured ourselves a positive outcome: If we find a new roommate, we win. If we don't find a new roommate, we sue him for breach of contract, he owes the remainder of the lease plus attorneys' fees and we have a nice three months to find someone new.

This sort of power is seductive. No matter what happens, we win. Oh yes.

Boy used my old trick last night--cleaned the toilet with the roommate's electric toothbrush, which made me chuckle with evil glee when his girlfriend walked around the house this morning, brushing her teeth with it.

...

Food now. Boy's barbequeing chicken and veggie burgers to go with the pie, and between the smells from the grill and the cooling pecan pie, I Can't Concentrate.

Saturday, and lazy as hell. Headed to bed early last night after some ass-kicking (praise allah for DOA3.) (not praise allah. praise...something else.), then woke up early to get the house ready for...a potential new roommate! She's very nice, has two dogs, works for Boy's company, AND DOESN'T GIVE US THE IMPRESSION THAT SHE'LL FUCK US OVER. Which is important.

So, cleaned the house, had a minor confrontation with the current roommate's girlfriend, and have spent the afternoon being mostly-lazy. Made pudding pops. And pie crust, but haven't worked up the energy to make pie. Watched the Usual Suspects with Boy. now, dinner. Don't know where we'll go.

this is the most boring update ever. But I thought I'd poke my head in.

So, dinner, then Kyle's show, and then home for loud and lavish sex.

Jealous? Mhmm.

While I'm at it: Nominate me for an Anti-Bloggie. I suggest "Most Often Updated" or "Biggest A-List Suckup" or maybe even "Biggest Jerk".

Use Of Blog For Personal Benefit. Totally.

(via jish.)

NOW meetings. More of them.

How. Many. Other webloggers are having their periods? And writing about them?

I think I'll spare y'all the gory details, because I know that I sure as hell would like to be spared the cramping and backaches and soul-consuming headache that almost rendered me senseless last night.

...

Ahh, last night.

What a tale.

Of Heartbreak and Misery, those bastards.

It wasn't supposed to be like that--came home from work, showered, and crashed. It was Thursday! Nothing happens on Thursdays! But then I talk to Dave, and he reminds me about The Shiners' last show...which I'd thought was Friday.

So out to dinner (Bizarro, because we hadn't been in a while), flirt with waitress, head to the show, see some folks, wiggle our butts to the music (you know, they're fucking great, the shiners. makes me so very very sad they're disbanding. They played like the rockstars they are, which made it even harder to remind myself it was the last one.), and when my brain was pounding in time to the music, I decided it was time to go home.

So we made our farewells. Quick drive home. I barely make it out of my clothes and into the bed before zonking out...and Boy stays up. And finds out that the roommate IS IN FACT BULLSHITTING US.

Lying to get out of the lease.

With us.

Ohhh, such a bad move!

Trust me--if you're looking to fuck with someone, we are a poor poor choice for targets.

...

Had a spicy smoked mozzarella ravioli last night and my tongue is still slightly tingly. I was eating an orange on the drive to work this morning and couldn't figure out why my mouth was numbish.

...

Spent almost two hours awake last night. Too tired to just get up (it was 4am) and get moving, but too awake to just go back to sleep. Boy and I stared at the ceiling, fists balled with rage and jaws clenched just willing the roommate to do something untoward, something that would justify the use of a .45 and a shovel.

...

I'm in a surprisingly good mood, though--for four hours of sleep and a ball of rage in my tummy. I think it's the balled-up pigtails--everyone keeps telling me how damned cute I am, which can only do wonders for your disposition, I promise. Also, it's Friday! Who couldn't love such a beautiful day wherein you have little actual work to do and several meetings in which to space-out? Tonight I think we'll just stay home and think up elaborate plans for torture involving the roommate (actually, all I need is a car battery, poly-coated 12ge copper wire and gator clips. Maybe a scalpel or two, because I am a sick fuck. fire ants and honey. i'll stop now.), but tomorrow...Tomorrow! Movie with Blondie. Seattle Webloggers thing in late afternoon. Laymans Terms show at the Sit'n'Spin at nine. Sunday has yet to be planned, but perhaps we'll devote more time to thoughts of torture. Eeeexcellent.

bah. Meetings!