Driving Miss Crazy

When my family goes out together, say, for dinner, my dad or sister usually drives, because my mom can be a bit of a princess sometimes and doesn't drive the family unless she has to. So I'd forgotten how much her driving makes me crazy. She's not a particularly unsafe driver: she doesn't speed, she checks her blindspots, she uses her blinkers, and she doesn't tailgate. Usually. But she doesn't understand the concept of gradually applying the gas pedal or brake. Instead, when brake lights start glowing on the highway, she stomps repeatedly on the brake pedal, making all the passengers in the car look like drunk bobblehead dolls. And after she comes to a full stop, say, at a red light, she slowly pumps the brake pedal so that we creep forward an inch at a time, until we're practically in the backseat of the car in front of us. Similarly, when speeding up, say on the freeway onramp, she guns the gas until we're a tad too close to the car in front, releases to slow down, guns it again, releases, guns, only to hit the brakes sharply when traffic slows down. Gah!

Last night, my mom drove us to go shopping and I was reminded how much I hate the way she drives. I felt myself slipping back into old roles--parent and child--and all the accompanying feelings. I found myself getting irritated over what was basically nothing, and the urge to snap at her about her driving was overwhelming. But then it occurred to me: she drives like this all the time and so far, to no one's demise. I could nag her, sure, but what purpose would that serve? In the end, it wouldn't change how she drives, but it would annoy both her and me and I would be left a seething ball irrational rage. So when we left the store, I offered to drive.

The way I see it, if a situation is bothering me, I can do something to change it, but if I choose not to make any changes, I can shut up about that which annoys me. So I've become my mother's chauffeur. Yep, driving Miss Crazy.

Yeeeegad!

I got a little unexpected and unwanted gift today. I was in my parents' garage looking for empty boxes I could use to pack and ship Christmas gifts back to San Francisco. I found a stack of new cardboard boxes leaning against a work table, so I grabbed one and hauled it up to my bedroom. I taped up the bottom of the box, flipped it over, and holy mother of all that is scary, realized that a black widow spider was scuttling about 4 inches from my hand. Yeesh! And shudder!! I shrieked and jumped back most ungracefully, while hollering for my (younger) sister to come help. Apparently, the fear and panic were quite evident in my voice, because she came sprinting upstairs...and skidded to a halt when she saw the spider. I ran downstairs to get a shoe with which to kill the bugger (my excuse for hollering and not running downstairs immediately to get a shoe myself was that I was afraid if I took my eyes off the spider, it would run off and hide somewhere...good thinking, right? Right?!) and she smacked it, turned over the shoe, and verified that it was, indeed, a black widow. Eep! I had the heeby-jeebies for the next hour and kept imagining that I felt something crawling up my arm.

Eventually, though, I calmed down, but now I can't help but think that there must've been a gang of spiders hanging out together (a fly klatch, perhaps?) and that the rest of them are hiding in my bed, ready to avenge the death of their dear, deadly friend. Yipes.

Merry merry!

I've been away from an Internet connection for a couple of days now, but I'm back! A belated Merry Christmas to everyone! I've been in close quarters with family on both sides (mine and Chris's) and it's been great: food, presents, dogs, even the beach (a true Southern California Christmas). I met a couple of great kids, too, and plotted to have Chris distract their parents while I scooped them up and made off with them. But now, I think it's naptime.

Annoying people

Oops...didn't post yesterday after all. (Well, aside from posting the previous day's entry.) Nothing exciting to report..."worked" then flew down to Southern California. Witnessed an Amazing Race-worthy couple at the airport (by which I mean "insane"). The guy was fidgety and had a lot of nervous energy, while the girl was trying to read a book. She had her legs across his lap, so every time he fidgeted, her book would bounce around and the whole thing just pissed her off. So she'd go off on him about the fidgeting and he'd say "I can't sit still. I think I'll go for a walk," to which she'd say no and tell him to just calm the fuck down. Repeat ad nauseum. Yeah, I couldn't understand it either.

Braved the day before Christmas Eve crowds with my sister today. It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected, but I did get confirmation for how much the salespeople at Macy's suck. I walked up to the counter, holding an item I wanted to purchase. The two salesgirls were talking to another customer, but only one of them could ring her up, right? So the other one could help me, right? Apparently not so much. Instead, I stood there for about a minute staring at the second salesgirl while she stood around watching the first salesgirl deal with the other customer. I had to actually say, "I'd like to buy these earrings now." Whatever happened to "Can I help you with anything?" or "Would you like me to ring those up for you?" God. And bah humbug.

"Oops"

I wrote this yesterday (12/21) but forgot to post it:

Here's a thought: if you're going to go into a busy downtown deli at 9a.m., don't order a toasted bagel with egg, bacon, and cheese if you're going to tap your toes impatiently and seethe, "I just don't have time for this!" at every employee who walks by you when your bagel doesn't just magically appear out of thin air. The poor woman is hauling ass to make your bagel. Shut up, impatient woman. Just a thought.

One of the funniest parts of my job is getting feedback or queries directly from readers. (Also, this can be one of the scariest, when squicky people e-mail wanting to get to know you better.) Anyway, I got an e-mail the other day from a man who had just purchased his first computer (he built it himself!) and needed recommendations for a monitor. That's not the funny part. The funny part was his rampant abuse of the quotation mark, a la Joey Tribbiani on Friends. He was looking for a "monitor" and had a "strict" budget. He knew I was probably very "busy" and so he "appreciated" any advice I could "give" him. And then he "thanked" me "very much" for my time. All I could imagine was that if this was a face-to-face verbal conversation, he'd be using the finger quotes and I'd have to consider whether this was code for a drug transaction.

I'm not a big holiday fanatic or anything, but neither am I the Grinch. I like a cheery string of lights and pretty trees tug at my heartstrings. But you'll never catch me wearing a red sweatshirt with Rudolph puffy-painted on the front and ornaments dangling from my earlobes. The rampant commercialism of Christmas kind of bugs me, so for the most part, I tune it out. So I surprised myself this morning when I found myself all bummed that the holiday stuff in my local Tully's was on sale (in a brief brain fart, I thought Christmas was over, because the holiday paraphernalia usually goes on sale after the holiday). I felt a keen pang of regret that the twinkle lights would be packed away and the sparkly ornaments would be no more. I was even a little sad that there would be no more Christmas music, which is insane, because the non-stop battery of carols has been driving me right out of my mind lately (except for "Baby It's Cold Outside" thanks to "Elf"). I don't know what it is, but I think it's that the winter holiday decorations add a little sparkle and fun to everything. And people seem cheerier, too. Maybe that's what I'll miss the most. Sure, it's no fun to go shopping with every single other person in the country digging their elbows into your back, but there's something sweet about everyone being out and about and oohing and aahing over the tree in Union Square and Macy's over-the-top yet gorgeous store trimmings. Hm…I need to go listen to the Beach Boys.

Join the daaaark side!

Oh crap, 10 minutes till I miss the deadline for a Monday posting!
Nothing much to say today. Did some less-than-stealthy Christmas shopping ("Uh, don't look in the trunk. There's no Christmas gift for you there.") Discovered that I don't have Photoshop on this computer after all. My plans to design our invitations tonight went out the window. Which is just as well, because I can't think of a way to word the invitations that doesn't sound weirdly stiff and formal, at least for us. I mean, seriously? You'd never hear me or Chris say anything like, "We request the honour of your presence as we join our lives in matrimonial bliss."

I knew I was getting punchy when this started sounding about right:

Together with our parents
Mom and Dad
and
Mommy and Daddy

Felisa
and
Chris

Request the pleasure of your company
As we join forces
To become one great megalomaniacal entity
On Saturday, the twenty-sixth of March
Two thousand and five
at five o'clock.
Kindly respond.

Running in circles

Chris and I had a lengthy conversation yesterday (some would call it an argument) about wedding planning, specifically about planning that which is still unplanned. Which makes sense. Anyway, it brought to mind the fact that I am simultaneously an organization freak and incredibly messy and disorganized. This first came to light when it was clear that we were moving back to San Francisco from New Haven. The moment we made that decision, I went a little nuts, needing to know RIGHT NOW what the deal was going to be with the cat, the movers, the plane tickets, the new apartment, graduation, families visiting, jobs...and this was in January. The move happened at the end of May. Of course, once the pieces actually started falling in place a couple of months later, I wasn't nearly as organized as my yelling and lists and charts in January would have you believe.

I think planning and organizing is my way of quelling panic in the face of unknown events. When I can't actually plan due to circumstances out of my control, I sort of go batty, annoying everyone around me (no really, just ask Chris). I usually resort to long rants, then wedge myself into a tight ball on the couch and keen. But when I can do stuff, watch out! Give me a clipboard and a walkie-talkie and I turn into uber-Director (I have a little Monica Gellar in me, I think.) I'm an excellent planner...too bad I'm just so damn messy. I have lots of energy to work in short spurts (dinner parties, brunches, weddings! oh ho ho!), but I can't maintain that kind of organization in the long run. Exhibit A: my bedroom. I have clothes and books and papers and cats and shoes and detritus EVERYWHERE. Every week or so, I turn into the Tasmanian Devil and tear through, picking everything up, sorting it all back to its proper place, and swearing on a stack of Martha Stewart Livings that I'm going to maintain the neatness and order indefinitely. Never happens.

Mbrain functions in much the same way. Every organization system I've tried has failed, which is why I don't have a Palm Pilot, despite the fact that every part of it calls out to me. Lists! Calendars! Alerts! Address books! I know that I'll get into it for a few weeks, trying to cram every bit of personal knowledge into the little device, only to shove it into a drawer somewhere. Instead, I just let everything rattle around inside my noggin and when I feel cluttered enough, I start writing down lists, just to get all my ducks in a row.

To some extent, this has helped with wedding planning. This ONE BIG EVENT is so daunting that I'm driven to constantly make and update my lists. On the other hand, I have this feeling of constant panic--on a low simmer--that puts me on edge a lot of the time. That feeling has been compounded by the holidays: gifts to buy, cats to find caregivers for, travel, work trips.... Holiday madness has taken on a special edge this year, because since we started planning the wedding, I haven't had a single trip to my parents' house that was just a few days of relaxation. Every trip becomes an opportunity to do a little more (we're planning from afar). I'm a little astounded that I haven't started screaming and running in circles.

Purple will be the new pink!

Chris and I spent yesterday in personal purgatory: Christmas shopping in Union Square. The long lines, the herds of people shuffling along ever so slowly, the desperate search for just the right shade of green (it turns out that wearing pine green is akin to tattooing "LOSER" on your forehead this season...lime green, now That's HOT!). Happily, we accomplished most of what we set out to do.

I learned that Macy's salespeople are quite different from Nordstrom's salespeople. I've always heard that Nordstrom's has the best salestaff, as well as the best customer service policies (returns and such), but never gave it a second thought. But it all became so clear yesterday. At Nordstrom's, the salestaff were helpful, appeared as if from thin air right when you needed them, and actually told you if they didn't have what you were looking for (imagine!), and directed us to where we might find said item, even if it was a different department store.

On the other hand, none of the Macy's salespeople came over to help us, even as we looked them in the eye from 15 feet away. We were actually standing there, drumming our fingers on the counter, clearly ready to look at something in the case, and the salespeople just stood there talking to each other. We had to go over and ask them to open the case for us. And when we finally got someone to talk to us, she was foaming at the mouth to make the sale, even though she didn't have what we wanted. We want this in pine green, we'd say, and she'd point out greenish blues and pale blues and try to pass them off as green. Not so gaudy, we'd say, and she'd point us to what was obviously the least gaudy thing she had--though it was still blinged to the nines--and try to convince us that it was right for the person in mind, just because it's HOT and the biggest seller of the year. Thanks, but no.

Creeping towards the weekend

Today was possibly the longest work day in the history of work days. People have already left for holiday vacations and everything is just winding down, ever so slowly. The hours creeped by, too. I could feel my eyelids drooping and every fiber of my being was crying out for a nap, oh god, just a 20 minute nap. This does not bode well for next Wednesday. The saving grace is that our company is decent enough to shut its doors from December 24 through January 3. And not count it towards our vacation time.

To kickstart the weekend, I made a to-do list. I think I like making lists more than I like doing the things on the list. But I also really enjoy crossing things off said list, which doesn't jive well with not liking the doing part. Anyway, I made a to-do list and I almost started up again with the hysterical laughter (that's been happening a lot lately). Aside from Christmas shopping, there's a crapload of wedding stuff to do, not to mention work and cleaning and digging a hole into which I can crawl and wait out the next 100 days.

But there are things to look forward to: a friend's birthday dinner on Saturday and an afternoon of "daft games" at the beach with other friends on Sunday. I've never run a three-legged race with Chris before, but we are quite adept at maneuvering the field of live mines that is our apartment when it's kitty feeding time. The cats streak back and forth so fast it looks like we have a herd of cats. Have you ever jumped double-dutch? It's like that. Knowing where and when to hop is crucial, lest we end up with squished cats. Anyway, we've got that race in the bag.

And the weekend begins in 3…2…1….

Tongue tied

Of all the stupid things to be frustrated about! I decided last night that I want to take out my tongue ring. I've been thinking about this for a while now because I wanted to be sure of my decision. Tongues heal quickly enough that if I changed my mind as little as 24 hours after removing the bar, I'd pretty much be screwed. But it's been irritating my mouth a lot lately, so what the hell. Except that the ball was tightened so well when it was put in that I can't unscrew it! So it looks like I'm going to have to get a professional to do this for me. Of all the stupid things...

Give me a fuckin' break

Seriously? The Parents Television Council needs to turn off their TVs and dig a hole and live in it if they are so bothered by what amounts to nothing!

Lap it up

As evidence of how truly kooky the Japanese are, I present the Nap Lap (I cam up with that name!). It's funny and also...ew. It's just the bottom half of a fake woman. With panty lines. And actually, it doesn't look that comfortable. Doesn't it seem like your head would just slide right off? Creepy...

Brokedown ox

I received in the mail an early Christmas gift I got for myself: a "My Ox is Broken!" t-shirt from TelevisionWithoutPity.com and Glarkware. I'm wearing it right now, in fact, and taking great pleasure in it. I don't usually wear message clothing—"witty" shirts that tell the world that I'm with stupid or claim that I'm "Hot Stuff!" in glitter (though I have a college sweatshirt, but who doesn't?). I have one t-shirt with a glittery American flag and the world Freedom emblazoned on the front, but I bought it out of desperation at the gym when I realized I'd forgotten to pack a shirt in my gym bag. And I always wear it inside out. I'm even generally opposed to bumper stickers, especially those that include the words "honor student" or that try to be clever with the put-downs. I just find it all to be cheesy, and have you ever tried to remove a bumper sticker from your car?

But I could not resist the pull of the broken ox shirt. In case you don't recognize the catchphrase, it's from last season's Amazing Race, where Colin failed miserably to steer an ox around a muddy field, to the point of breaking down and screaming (not unlike a six-year-old), "My ox is broken!" He was t-h-i-s close to throwing the reins on the ground and stomping his feet like a petulant kid. I imagined the poor ox just rolling his eyes, all "Why you hatin' on me, man? You wanna see broken, check out your prissy-ass girlfriend over there, scared to get a little mud on her feet. You wanna be with that kind of woman? I'm doin' you a favor! Bitch." I'm campaigning to make "My Ox is Broken!" the official slogan of Things Aren't Going My Way. No one's letting you change lanes on the highway? My ox is broken! Can't catch a break at work? My freakin' ox is broken! Walk in on your spouse with another man? My goddamn fucking ox is motherfucking broken! It's going to be big, this one!

In other news, Carlo singed his whiskers on a candle flame. No self-preservation instinct, that one.

Countin' down till crazy

Any bit of sanity I had left concerning Carlo is out the window. He discovered jumping over the weekend, more specifically, jumping up. Until a few days ago, the kitchen table, the low bookshelves, and the kitchen counters were just strange lands to him. He's a smallish cat, but I think he's always been capable of jumping that high—he just didn't know it. And I was fine with that. Being not that bright, it never seemed to occur to him to try, even though Vinny jumps up all the time. Again, I have no issues with that situation. But over the weekend, something changed, and suddenly, he is everywhere. Hopping across the (unlit) stove, prowling in the sink, shoving his head into sticky, unwashed glasses…I feel my blood pressure rising already. I'm afraid of what I'll find when I get home tonight.

Chris and I recently set up a wedding webpage through one of those free wedding portals. There's a little counter at the top that counts down the days until the wedding: 103 days, 102 days, 101 days…. I know it's supposed to be helpful, but it's driving me crazy. I think it's mocking me. "Only 100 days left and you have ALL THAT left to do?! Are you MAD?!" Why yes, crazy-crazy mad-mad, in fact. And the damn counter is NOT helping! I'm at the point where I want someone to tell me where to be and when, and I'll just happily be led around.

Birthday bash

I know it looks like I've already bailed on the Holidailies thing, but I haven't, and I have a really good reason for not updating over the weekend. Friday marked the 30th birthday of one of my closest friends and some other friends and I were planning a secret, surprise trip to L.A. to celebrate (she lives in Houston). Obviously, blogging about the weekend would've been a dumb move and we were too busy during the weekend for me to blog.

But the weekend was a smashing success. She had no idea it was happening. Big kudos to her fiancé for managing to keep it a secret via a tangled web of lies, deceit, and red herring statements. Ah, the things we do for the ones we love. The best part is that the whole "reveal" was caught on videotape: the walkie-talkies, chatter about the "package" dropping, screams of shock and joy, tears and hugs…it was awesome.

We ate our way through the valley and Sunset Blvd., had the most amazing massages, found potential wedding dresses (!), barbequed, hot tubbed (and overflowed and shorted out the hot tub), hung out at a swank L.A. bar/club, watched "Elf" (and sang "Baby It's Cold Outside all weekend, in 80 degree weather), and bought a Star Map and checked out the walls in front of the homes of the Pitts, Madonna, Hugh Hefner, and the Osbournes. They all had very nice walls and security cameras.

Good job everyone!

Care enough to send the very best

Short entry today due to the fact that I'm sick and therefore ditching work a little early. It's been a frustrating day at work, too, lots of random, little things that irk me. I'm especially irritable due to being sick, so the lots of little things formed a pile that proved too formidable for me. Solution? Run away, of course.

Over the past few days, we've received a plethora of gifts from Chris's parents. I personally received a postcard telling me that they gave me a National Geographic membership which entitles me to a one-year subscription of the magazine, which I love. Then there's the crate of grapefruits from Harlingen, TX. Delicious, sweet, and just tart enough. It's like a burst of summer in the middle of winter. And finally, the holiday wreath that's now hanging on our front door. I love how the pine scent just floats around the front door. So very Christmas-y.

My parents were never big on care packages. During college, I never received a package unless I specifically requested something. I was always envious of the kids whose parents regularly sent packages with treats, books, and clothes. Even socks or a postcard would've been nice. I plan to inundate my kids with packages. It's just nice to know that someone was thinking about you and put in the effort to show it.

Canadian Supreme Court rules in favor of gay marriage

Canadian Supreme Court rules in favor of gay marriage

At least someone's getting it right around here. Between this and universal health care? Canada's looking pretty darn nice right now.

The cat with the curl

Finally, someone on the outside can confirm that I'm not just randomly hating on my cat. My sister is visiting and she spent the night on the futon in the living room. Due to the layout of our apartment, I could either subject us all to the unwanted and excessive attentions of Carlo, or I could close my bedroom door, locking both cats out. Guess what I did? And guess who stumbled into the kitchen all bleary-eyed this morning and groused, "I hate Carlo"? Apparently, she woke up in the middle of the night without much pillow under head and wearing him as a pair of earmuffs. Yes, he wrapped himself around her head. He then proceeded to sprawl across her face, attempt to eat everything on the coffee table (including her glasses, cough drops, and cell phone), and played a 30-minute game of on-the-bed/off-the-bed. Of course, he later jumped into my arms as I was lazing in bed and proceeded to be the sweetest, most loving cat there ever was. He's like the little girl with curl in the middle of her forehead: when he's good, he's very, very good; when he's bad, he's horrid.

Party like it's 1999

My head feels foggy today. I'm coming down with a bug and the cats staged their furry rendition of "West Side Story" last night, complete with fangs and claws. Like a fool, I tried to let them sleep in the bedroom. With Chris being out of town and the torrents of rain battering our windows, I thought their furry company would be nice. Which it was, until they started calling each other Tony and 'Nardo and arranged to meet at my ass to rumble. I finally had to shoo them out, all Officer Krupke-like, but the damage was done. I'm a walking zombie today.

Our company holiday party is tonight: three hours after work, in the glass atrium/lobby, with music and food and tropical drinks. Next to our sad, sad tree that looks like the unloved, last tree left on a tree lot on Christmas Eve. Not only are the branches scraggly and sparse, but the whole things lists to the side, like it's plum out of Christmas spirit. I'm trying to recast it in my mind as the James Dean, too-cool-for-school tree. It'd rather be drinking whiskey out of a brown paper bag and smoking a butt out back, but we've forced it to wear the gaudy tinsel and oversized snowflakes and it's all, "Dude, whatever. I don't give a shit."

After working at a tech company during the SF boom, holiday parties are now sad reminders of what once was. My old company used to have splashy shindigs at places like Bimbo's 365…hell, we were slumming the year we had it at the E&O Trading Company. People snorting coke in the bathrooms, sneaking out the door to smoke a joint, untoward remarks to your supervisor, ill-advised dancing everywhere, and an open bar with drinks so strong alcohol fumes were wafting up from everyone's heads. There's something to be said for an era of overly confident marketing people and angel investors who threw their money around all willy-nilly. Even if you were too embarrassed to go back to work on Monday.

I actually forgot the party was tonight and can't stick around for it, but I think I won't miss out on much. Besides, my sister is coming in tonight, and I'm looking forward to proving to her that my cat is really and truly a freak.

Day 1: Let's start at the very beginning

And so it begins. Day 1 of a long trek into the wilds of what-will-I-write-about-now. I have nothing interesting to report so far. Except that I've taken to calling Vinny "Heavy V" because he's put on a little weight since moving back to SF, despite the fact that the two cats run kitty races through the apartment everyday.

My memory is pretty shoddy. I can usually remember with clarity whether Chris and I had a particular conversation, including what was said, where we were standing, our gestures, and the way his nose flared when he got mad. But then things like my last semester of college? Gone. It's fun to get together with college friends and have them fill in the (big) gaps for me.

Anyway, I know some people who have clear memories from preschool. I remember little flashes, visually and emotionally, but that's about it. I remember crying because my mom wouldn't let me wear my favorite dress to school for what was probably the fifth day in a row. It was a little denim jumper with a house and tree embroidered on the front. I think it had red buttons, too. Our school was attached to a nursing home and I remember having to walk through the halls of old people to get the milk for lunch from the cafeteria (the teachers would take a couple of students to help). What I really remember about that trek, though, is the smell of sickness and old people, on top of which was layered the sharp odor of antiseptic cleaner and bleach. I remember feeling scared of them, all slow and wrinkled.

I remember watching the class snake consume a live mouse head first and staring as the bulge crept down the length of the snake's body. I remember distinctly the feeling of simultaneous horror and fascination—incredibly grossed out yet unable to look away. Oh and I remember the papery skin that the snake would shed. I liked how it had the same ridges as the snake. To that end, I also loved smearing a thin thin thin layer of Elmer's Glue on my palm, letting it dry, and then carefully peeling it off in one continuous sheet, marveling that it had the same lines and wrinkles as my palm. (And though it's been a couple of decades since I've done that, I suspect I would still like it as much.)

I remember getting to school and being upset because I'd forgotten to tell my parents that it was Western Day or some such. I was the only one without a costume and I felt mortified. I wanted to go home to bury myself under the covers in shame. Of course, the teachers had extra costumes on hand just for kids like me, so it turned out okay. I even have a picture of me all dressed up in a fringed vest and chaps. I rode a pony that day. I really liked that.

That's it for today. No grand, sweeping conclusion about the roles these memories play in my life now. I'm pretty much just happy to remember anything about being 4 at all. What do you remember about your early childhood?

The Gun, brain goop, and curse the cat!

Chris and I had a busy and productive weekend. We finally got around to doing our registry. I'm of two minds about registries. On the one hand, I feel like such a tool doing the registry, because to do so is to expect gifts. Now I've been to enough weddings to know that gifts will be given, regardless, but still, the act of creating a registry is akin to stating "Give me prezzies" and that makes me feel lame. On the other hand, have you ever used a registry scanner, aka "The Gun"? Oh, the heady power…point, scan, BEEEP! I want to make a business of setting up gift registries for other people because then I could scan for a living! BEEEEEP!! Oh, and word to the wise: it's not smart to do your wedding registry on a Saturday afternoon during the height of holiday shopping. It's actually incredibly dumb.

I've recently developed an inability to say anything in the face of danger. Instead of a helpful "STOP!" or "Watch out!" I kind of grunt or moan and point ineffectually. Chris was driving the other day when a car almost swerved into us and all I could do was gasp and close my eyes. And yesterday, I was waiting at a crosswalk downtown and a couple of the people waiting with me started walking when we got the green walking man signal, despite the fact that a taxi was about to come careening through the crosswalk. I only managed to flap my hands a little and make a low "unnnnhhhh" kind of sound. Luckily for them, someone else yelped, "Wait!" When did my brain devolve to a pre-verbal state to respond to danger?

I'm beginning to hate Carlo again. He's taken to scratching at our bedroom door and yowling in the mornings. At first, he only did it after hearing our alarm clock ring. But then it started getting earlier…and earlier. This morning, he started at 5:30a.m. And it's not a polite knock on the door and "Hello?" It's more like he's trying to dig to China, starting with our door, and the yowling, oh god, the yowling! If only he came with a mute button....

Daily blogging starts tomorrow. Here's hoping for the best!

Silly me, what have I done?

Uh...I'm going to go ahead and blame this on Shannon (hi!). At lunch today, she mentioned having signed up for Holidailies, which is a portal to personal sites whose authors have pledged to update everyday for a month. This year it's running from December 7 to January 6. In a fit of madness, I got all excited and went ahead and signed myself up. And then thought about my workload...and wedding planning...and my after-New Year business trip to Vegas...and uh...yeah. So starting December 7, I'll be updating (close to) everyday. Let's see how quickly my writing degenerates into the equivalent of dead-eyed drooling.

Moving on...
I have one of those brains that remembers faces really well, but not the names or places associated with them. So it's not uncommon for me to be on the bus or in a restaurant and realize that I know the person across the room. Until I figure out how I know the person, I'm all distracted because it just bugs the crap out of me. It's always difficult when it's someone who just rides the same bus you do or frequent the same downtown coffee shop, because you don't have the context of actual interaction. A few weeks ago, Chris and I were out at a bar and I turned around and made fleeting eye contact with a girl standing about 8 feet away. Instantly, I knew that I knew her from somewhere, and not only that, but I HATED her. It's very disconcerting to see someone and instantly despise her, for no good reason. It all made me feel bitchy because I realized she was probably just some girl who was out at a bar or restaurant minding her own damn business, but whose demeanor and/or actions rubbed me the wrong way--and I fixated on it...and burned her face into my mind...and hated her. I still haven't figured out who she is. Yesterday, a similar thing happened: I was waiting to cross the street and saw a guy standing there. Again, totally recognized him but couldn't place him...and yet knew that I was very very attracted to him and that I have a history of being attracted to him, and not just physically. So weird.

At the gym yesterday, I was watching Snoop's "Drop It Like It's Hot" video. Man, that shit cracks me up. Something about the way he dances makes me laugh out loud. Between that and the random tongue clucking (I don't get it), I love that video.

Participatory theater

Seriously? Do I really need another reason to LOVE this city? Well, okay, here's one: 2004 Dance-Along Nutcracker: The Show. Seriously, the band plays, the performers perform, and you (YOU!) can get up and dance along too! You can even rent tutus and fairy wands, if you don't have any in your closet already. And click on the link to watch previous dance-alongs. AWEsome!

The many-headed wedding Hydra

When you chop off one head...three more appear. So perhaps I spoke too soon. Just when I thought we had this wedding planning thing under control, a million more tasks popped up last night that have to be dealt with. They're all the little things...almost harder to wrangle than the big things, because the big things are just so obvious! Last night, we were lying in bed in the dark, getting ready to sleep and I don't know how he knew because I wasn't fidgeting, but Chris said, "You can turn your brain off now, you know." Oh, if it were only that easy.