What on earth is up with the music chosen for Without a Trace? Oh lordy lordy lordy. It’s downright weird it is. And her hair. She really needs to comb her hair.

(Side note: Guess how many kids showed up at my house tonight. NONE. ZERO. NADA. A seed has been planted. I am forever the anti-kid. I don’t care how cute they are.)

The kids of Noe Valley, San Francisco can kiss my soon to be (because of the amount of unclaimed candy) fat ass for not coming to our house this year.

There is nothing more pathetic than a young woman sitting outside between her laughing husband with a giant bowl of candy BEGGING passers by to take some. AND BEING REJECTED! (Granted one woman was jogging and the other two were carrying the variety of children without teeth, but still. I HAVE A LOT OF CANDY TO GIVE! I JUST DON’T KNOW WHERE TO GIVE IT!)

Yeah, I know it’s only 6:30 p.m. and they might still come by. But, by the looks of it, Sanchez appears to be much more popular.

This is why I never threw a party. The idea of no one showing up terrifies me. But Desperate Housewives will make a little more sense to me tonight.

Help us decide WHERE the hell should we move. NYC or DC? It’s that easy. We have talked about both jobs, they are nearly identical. It comes down to where.

Or should we stay here and hope we can pay our bills all the while saving enough money to eventually move away?

Got a coin? Flip one. Magic 8 Ball? Shake that bitch. Got a fortune teller handy? Ask her if It’ll be a boy or a girl. I’m asking for feedback. Even if you just want to tell us how crazy we are for possibly leaving San Francisco so soon.

Now, I must go and write (and call) people back thanking them for being so amazing and helpful and sweet.

P.S. Gina, if you find work in Detroit, then hells yes!

P.P.S. Dad and Mom, thanks for being so helpful and flexible.

P.P.P.S Ryan, thanks for toying with the idea of letting us stay with you should we move to NYC.

P.P.P.P.S Soung, thanks for also offering up your big wonderful house should we move to D.C.

I have received some really amazing email (and phone calls) over the past two days. I would like to thank you all for that. Hopefully, I will get around to calling and/or emailing everyone personally.

Thank you.

I would like to congratulate Mike Essl for being the man when it comes to being featured in magazines all up and down the United States of America.

(p.s. Hopefully, we can take you out for real, TobyJoe/Michele style in a few months.)

A little over 8 months ago, Toby was offered a job in San Francisco. We turned them down because the money wasn’t good enough and we didn’t know if we actually could move all the way across the country in the time allotted. They came back to us with a new offer. We turned it down again. They came back with yet another, and then we had some talking to do.

Basically, I had said if they match XX amount then we’ll do it. At the time I thought, “There is no way that will happen. Therefore, we won’t be moving to San Francisco. Because that’s just crazy.”

Well, it’s no surprise that they did make it worthwhile.

On April 9th of this year, just before Easter, I accepted a job in Washington D.C. working as an Art Director for a very large company there. I went back and forth as to whether this was something I should do – whether it was something I wanted to do. I finally decided to do it. Five days later, we found out we’re moving to the West coast. We found out we were moving to a place neither one of us had ever been before. While that realization was pretty exciting, at the same time, it was unbelievably sad.

But there wasn’t a lot of time for feeling sad. In less than three week’s time we had to have our boxes packed, our moving services scheduled, a new apartment picked out, a route planned a van rented, and a once post-wedding party, now going-away party planned. I was an absolute wreck. I remember thinking, “There is NO FUCKING WAY I will be able to pull this off. And if there is a way I am able to pull all this off, there is no way Toby will want to speak to me when it’s all over.” I hoped for absolute failure and have nowhere to fall from.

Somehow, it all worked out. Our move to the West coast went without too much of a problem. We broke some wine glasses. We spent a lot of money. We took at least three lives from our 9-live sporting kitty cats. But overall, we couldn’t have asked for a smoother move.

It’s a little over six months after we found out we’re moving to San Francisco. In those six months, I have had some ebbs and troughs. That’s for bloody sure. There were the really very bad and downright awful moments where I thought I couldn’t stay here another minute. And reading back on those days I am shocked to have to report that they weren’t even my worst days. My worst days were the days I didn’t write at all. The days where I didn’t feel much like doing anything.

But there were a lot of great moments here as well. I won’t deny that. But I’ll leave that for another post. :]

The thing that I have realized upon my returning here after a 34-day stint on the East coast for work is that it isn’t San Francisco who was having trouble adopting me. It wasn’t the weather or the people, the obscenely large number of crepe places, the hills or the fog I used to blame for my state of mind. It’s not the underground I have searched out and never found. It’s not even the large number of bloody homeless people or the weird hippies who throw fruit into the Pacific Ocean to pay “respect back to the earth”. It’s not the lack of fireflies, or thunderstorms, or seasons. It’s me. (Not that this came as much of surprise.)

Over the past several weeks, Toby and his job have become more and more separated by creative differences. Now, should you dissect the phrase “creative differences” you will soon find an entirely different 400-page post. But I won’t do that. In summary, it’s not working out. It hasn’t been working out for about a month now. And that is all I want to say about that.

So Toby has decided to leave his job. The PHP book deal sped that decision up a bit. He leaves in two week’s time and then the world is wide open again.

It also might not come as much of a surprise to find out that Toby is being entertained by other companies already. Two of which, reside on the East coast, one in NYC, the other in Washington, D.C. Both of these companies wish for him to start nearly immediately, December 1 to be exact.

This has been so much for us to think about, I think I’m still in denial. And every time it enters my head I push it out again and entertain thoughts like, “I think I like Peanut M&Ms better than the regular.” and “I wonder if David Caruso is that serious in real life, too.”

Basically, we’re still not sure what is going to happen. I am in shrug mode.

There have been nights since we arrived here that I begin to doze off and imagine our trip again. We drove coast to coast in less than 5 days. The odd feeling that I haven’t ever gained the words to explain (still haven’t) is that I feel as though the day that we left, someone tied a rubber band to the back of our rented van bumper. They tied one piece to the car, the other to a tree or a house, or a fence or a house’s porch. We left. And all the while this rubber band kept getting longer and longer, stretching behind us like a safety cord, a lifeline, or an anchor. When I’m tired I still feel like it’s there. I know there are people all throughout the Midwest being close lined by this thing. They’re being slingshotted all the way from Kansas down to Texas, like zooming specks of dirt or little pebbles. Imagine going out for milk one night and suddenly you’re in Texas. That’s just not right. I have always thought that eventually we would be forced to let out the rubber band retract before it snaps and we’re no longer attached to anything. And then we may drift.

I’m sure that one day while I’m out walking, the right words will come to me, the description I have always wanted, the one making absolute sense, mathematically through the English language, and suddenly everyone (and myself) will understand

everything and me.

Toby hasn’t been feeling well lately so yesterday he stayed home from school and I made him tea. It was nice having him around all day. Towards the end of the day, Dee wrote me and reminded me about a rock ‘n roll show we had discussed attending. And since Toby didn’t feel well, I wasn’t sure that we could make it.

Many, many years ago, when Toby and I first met, we moved into a HUGE 3,000 square foot loft overlooking Manhattan.

It was in Greenpoint, right on the river. We had only known each other a month. The cost of living in NYC can drive people to do strange things. I remember the phone calls.

Yeah, I’m thinking I might move in with him.

Are you insane? That doesn’t seem like the best idea. What if he’s a serial killer?

We did it anyway. (It was the best insane thing I ever did.)

We moved in on December 15th. Technically it was ours on the first but there had been an gas explosion that week on the second floor, so the place was off limits for a bit. (This is what happens when you move into a commercial building not zoned for living.)

I remember the day we moved in. It was really cold. And since the explosion, they still hadn’t turned on the heat. (Another thing about moving into a place NOT zoned for living, you can’t call anyone to complain.) We dealt with it. We moved into the biggest coldest loft in all of Brooklyn.

I need to back up for a minute. I have an obscenely large supply of blankets, soap, and towels. I am not sure why. We would have to have about 15 people staying with us to employ every towel at once. But I still keep them around. And I can build the best forts or the most amazing nests with my blanket collection. (I wish there were a job in blanket fort-building.)

Now, back to my original story. So we moved in during the dead of winter. Our new loft was right on the water. It was December and our loft had massive windows like this:

And while they weren’t particularly drafty, they still managed to absorb the winter chill reminding us that things outside do freeze.

So I built a massive nest and every night we would get under those covers and not move again until morning. We even slept with winter hats on, sweaters, sweat shirts, socks and sometimes scarves. I wore gloves one night. It was a mere tactic just to see TobyJoe laugh. We could even see our breath! And sometimes I’d light a candle. And sometimes I’d pretend to camp. For two weeks we lived without heat or hot water. On our way home from work in the evenings, we would walk to my brother’s apartment and we’d shower. This worked out o.k. In the winter, I don’t sweat much even in New York City on a Subway beneath a steaming street.

But the mornings were the hardest. I had a CD alarm clock at the time. And every morning at around 7 it would spin to, sending out the most twangy, metallic sounding guitar riff.

Twwwwwwannnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggg…... this one goes out to all you rock and roll philistines – all you non-believers…

And Toby and I would moan ourselves awake. And I used to think I might someday hate that song and that sound. I used to think I might hate that man’s scratchy voice as he screamed me from my warm bed. I used to want to hurt him and break that c.d.

Had we been able to stay beneath the 7 blankets like two fat beans, tucked between them and warmth of our small futon, the mornings wouldn’t have been so bad. And I haven’t ever been so excited to get to work. After the Soledad Brothers would do their thing, I would peel myself out of bed and boil some water on a camp stove we purchased at the local Greenpoint Five ‘n Dime. Since we didn’t have a working kitchen, we had to make do in other ways. I’d fill the bathroom sink up with boiled water, turn on a small space heater, and like two human tea bags we would steep. It is incredible what you’re willing to do when you are in love.

Last night, I convinced Toby to come out to see the show. Even tho he wasn’t feeling well, I figured it might be a nice thing to do. They are called The Soledad Brothers. And they come from Detroit, where there too it is cold in the winter. You see, the Soledad Brothers will always remind me of that time where I lived in a 3,000 square foot loft without heat, over-looking a river separating Greenpoint from a much larger city. They will remind me of a time were I was newly introduced to love after having been so sad for so long.

And even if those bastards didn’t play our morning song, it was great to see them finally. And it took me back three years. And it made me miss a time I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let go of.

If I could give today up just to go back and spend one wickedly cold December morning lying beneath 7 blankets with my boy, I so would. I would give it up instantly. I would boil that pot of water and steep us both awake.

Twwwwwwannnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggg

Those were good days. And the strangest thing is I knew it even then.

Last night, the Bay Area was blessed by a thunderstorm. It’s a good thing, too. Otherwise, Tucker would have spent the entire night in our toilet room. As it were, he only spent 3 hours in the toilet room at which point I woke up to the most foreign sound of thunder and decided I had to pee.

Thunder, everyone. Thunder.

There is a possibility our lives (Toby and my own) will be changing yet again in the very near future. I wish I could make our life together seem any less crazy for those of you who don’t know us. But I can’t. Change is something we seem to tote.

Lately, I have been wondering if I should bring my lurkers along for this ride as I have done in the past, or keep this one at home and take my site down for a few months and start it up again once we’re done with all the figuring.

I haven’t figured it out what to do or say yet.

If I’m ever famous, I hope whatever I’m famous for is banned from Wal-mart as well. Accomplishment! Yes!

Poor Wal-mart, they take themselves so seriously as they rip the local dollar and individuality from small towns across America.

Screw Wal-mart.

Here are some incredible ads created by Errol Morris regarding the upcoming election. They’re set up much like the Apple Switch ads you may have seen a couple of years ago. Excellent messages made by real people.

Thanks, Chandler for the link.

I would like to say that the dance Ashley Simpson did on SNL last night ruled. So cute.

Even if she did lip sync. And screw it up.

That is all.

I’m trying really hard to optimize and post all of the photographs I’ve taken over the past month. And I’ll have them up by noon (PST). But this story is really eating at me this morning. I do hope that she lives. I do hope they spare her her life.

We live in a beautiful world. (Let her live.)

Here are a few of the photographs I took while I was working in D.C. Some of them won’t make a bit of sense. And if I have the time, I’ll write a caption for each one.

Click on the images to enlarge. (Captions, if any, are below each image.)

The sunset over Northeast Washington D.C. Taken in front of the Giant. Soon, that lot might hold another Walmart. I hate Walmart.

This is Jeff. We visited Mike’s farm for a day of fun in the sun. It ended up being very educational. Tho, we are still not sure what this gourd is.

Inside the greenhouse.

The biggest spider ever.

This is a mudhouse. A house made up entirely of mud. The man who built it used dynamite to blast a hole to get to the mud (mike, please correct me, I know I’m probably all wrong). Where the hole was, there is now a pond.

My attempt at a close-up.

This is Sky. This is one of Soung’s dogs.

And this is Gambee.

Here is Toby at Bedrock. He visited for a week.

This is Michael. I’ll let you wonder.

Again.

Matt at Bedrock.

Matt and Donald Eugene.

We drove to NYC for the night. Here are Mike and Rachel at the Ace Bar.

Evan and his gal, Amy.

Again.

Rachel and Mike. Toby’s arm.

TobyJoe at Kate’s Joint.

Back in D.C. Pumpkin carving. David and Soung.

Soung.

Myself. I have no clue what I’m doing here.

David carving away.

The guts.

David again. He wouldn’t let us see it till it was complete.

Just take a guess at which one I created. Sweet Jesus, I am the WORST pumpkin carver ever.

Soung and David laughing at the finished product.

David and Soung.

Our pumpkins again.

After three bottles of wine, we decided it would be a great idea to dress up the dog. She has a sweater, a leopard skin something or another, and a raincoat.

Here is Willa laughing at Gambee for wearing clothing. You just know she’s taunting her, doggie style.

Soung’s niece and nephew made these for her and David. Red lost a leg.

Here is Tucker.

And Schmitty and Toby and a top of Pookum

Tucker again.

I’m back in San Francisco. Today, consists of cleaning (I’m still in shock as to how Toby lived here for a month and managed NOT to drown beneath a ton of cat hair and vomit. I will teach him about the word “vacuum” tonight.)

The flight back was wonderful. Again. Jetblue puts me at ease. I was a bit nervous at first given our pilots both looked to be around 18 and 19 (I am kidding, but they were younger than the men you typically see up there.) But my fear went away instantly. One of them was female as well. She was so tiny! I imagined her on a date answering the question “What is it you do?”

Why, I fly a major jet airliner.

Hot.

It’s good to be back. Though, I miss Soung’s house and her doggies, it’s nice to see my fat felines. I miss the people, too. And I didn’t even say goodbye to most of them. I am not a good goodbyer. But it’s nice to have some warmer clothing again. And I am heading back to the gym today as well. Gotta undo what a month has done.

Things are changing fast. It’s exciting and nerve-racking all the same. Who knows where we’ll be in a year from now. Hell, who knows where we’ll be in 3 months from now. :] I do know this, we plan on one trip to Los Angeles, a trip to Vegas, and (hopefully) a tripe to Crater Lake. I am crossing my fingers we can fit this in, monetarily and time-wise.

More later, after I clean and then clean some more. I have a month’s worth of pictures as well. yay!

Ben sent me the first draft of the Bush Tshirt idea I’ve been working on.

We’re sending them off today. I’m going to have 50 printed. If you’re interested, send me an email.

Last night, Soung, David, Jim and I headed out to the 9:30 Club to see Beep Beep, TV on the Radio and The Faint. As we arrive, Beep Beep is playing. I can hear them from the door. We show the door guys our I.D.s, our tickets, and let them search through whatever bags we might be carrying. I am in a separate line from the three of them. And my line happens to be slower. Once they get through, they wait for me on the other side, just inside the swinging doors leading to the main floor area.

Jim is a nice looking gent. Jim is 34. He’s tall and pretty fit. He has a shaved head (due to male pattern baldness. I think.) Actually, he looks almost exactly like David. (You can find a picture of David here.)

Nutshell: Jim is alright.

So there they wait. And I finally get through the line. As I’m nearing them, I see a barely dressed woman with HUGE boobs stuffed into what looks to be a spandex running bra like two loaves of under-cooked white bread. But it’s not a running bra. And I’m willing to bet that under certain black lights you can see the faint “fuck-me” pattern embroidered onto it (pardon my language).

She has on a scandulously short jean mini-skirt. It’s entirely too tight for her butt cheeks. Her legs are busting out from below it like a can of Pilsbury dough that explode as you peel back the thin piece of cardboard. The cans I am so very terrified of opening. Her hair is blond. She is COVERED in make-up. It’s as if someone took a garden hose filled with the colors of Loreal and sprayed her face with it. She’s probably about 22 or 23. She approaches Jim, who is standing near the wall. She puts her hands on his chest and begins to rub his man boobs. She says, “I see you standing here. You’re just standing here. Why are you all alone? Standing here? Are you lonely?” Her hands move to his back. (Later, he will tell us, “I thought to myself, ‘maybe I know this girl? Do I know this girl?’ “).

She continues to rub. She sees me and suddenly says, “Oh, nevermind, oops. Oops.” I look at David and Soung who are steps ahead of Jim. Judging by their faces, they too are wondering what in the hell is going on. I move to them, fearing I may have interrupted something. Pilsbury continues to whisper in his ear and touch his chest.

I guess Jim finally realizes that he has no idea who this girl is and continues on with us up the stairs.

A bit later, after having made an earplug run, I meet back up with them by the upstairs bar. As I’m nearing Soung, I see she is engaged in conversation. I walk up and she introduces me to Nose Ring. Nose Ring takes my hand in the most disturbing, limp-wristed way. Soung turns back to David and leaves me with Nose Ring. Nose Ring is about 22 as well. She works with David but he barely knows her. (The word ‘crazy’ came out of his mouth later.) She begins saying stuff to me in a most husky voice. Her tongue sexually molests every word exiting her lips. These are the only words I remember:

• Faint
• Hot
• Sexy
• Miami
• Friend
• Absolutely
• Like
• Hot

I nod a lot. She grows bored with me and meets back up with her friend, Pilsbury. Pilsbury has her arms around two men at the bar. Pilsbury and Nose Ring know one another, go figure. Pilsbury is ready to dry hump the barstool. Nose Ring sidles up beside her. And then, just like one of those scenes in a movie where the person looks around and suddenly puts everything together (The Faint, Horny 22 year old girls, Random groping, Half-naked, Slobbery voices, Weird hand gestures, The Faint, dry humping barstool). It occurs to me. These two young ladies are on the GenEx (is that what they’re called? I’m not even sure.) drug of choice, E. Later, Jim, comes to the same conclusion entirely on his own.

Not one of us had ever done E. Does E really make people randy? Does it do this? If so, why? How? We spent the next 15 minutes trying to figure out what our generations equivalent was. Was there a now 30+ year old equivalent drug to E? I do wonder.

Abstinence, George? You’re crazy.

I am leaving D.C. on Wednesday afternoon. I was supposed to stay until Saturday, but my work is done and I miss home. It will be nice to have my stuff again. I miss my cats. And, of course, my husband.

Tonight, Soung, David and I head out to the 9:30 Club to see Beep Beep (who I know nothing about), TV on the Radio (who I am very excited about seeing) and The Faint (who I have seen before and am also very excited about seeing.)

It’s a good thing, too. I haven’t left the house except to walk the dogs since Friday evening. I was to meet up with Missy today. I still wish to, but I can’t seem to get dressed.

Ah well. Maybe I’m unconsciously depressed. :] Kidding. Just ready to get ready to relax and find a schedule again. Leaving here will suck as well. I’ve been here for so long.

That is all.

Last night something exploded behind Soung and David’s house at around 12:45 a.m. I heard the sound through my toothbrushing and thought that it was a door slamming and someone had just entered through the back door. I knew Soung was out of town. And David was working for another hour. The dogs were barking, wildly. I ran downstairs to see what was the matter, when another explosion went off. This time, there was no mistaking it. Flashbacks of that day in New York City came to me. I went into instant panic mode. And then I saw the flames. At first, I thought a house had exploded. Actually, every rubber-necker thought that. And instead of calling 911, I called Toby. Because, I mean, of course he’d be able to do something in North East Washington, D.C. while in San Francisco. Of course. He starts yelling at me to call 911.

As I stood there and contemplated the insanity of this mess and watched the flames shoot out above the house behind Soung’s, a man in a suit ran by the back porch. The flames were huge. The entire street lit up orange and red. I thought I even felt the heat. The running man looked at me standing there and screamed “CALL 911!!! A HOUSE IS ON FIRE! CALL 911!!!!”

I hung up on Toby – without even saying goodbye – and I called 911.

911, what’s your emergency?

Yes, there seems to have been an explosion. There is a lot of fire.

The operator interrupts me.

Is this near 16th street?

Yes.

We have someone already on their way.

I hung up.

As I’m tried to calm down three VERY freaked out dogs, I heard a third explosion. And then more flames. I called Toby back.

He told me to lock all the doors just incase there was a meth lab. If something like that had happened, then there was a good chance I might have some drug dealers running lose through the neighborhood. He also suggested that it might be a bomb and that whoever set the fire or set it off might still be around. So I locked everything and sat there watching from a window.

The trucks showed up. The cops showed up. And neighbors began pouring out of their houses. There were kids, and grandparents, teenagers and moms and dads. I decided it would be safe to go outside to see what was going on. (Curiosity got the best of me. What can I say.)

As I rounded the corner, around towards the back of the house, I crossed the street to get a better look of what was burning without having to get too close. I saw it was a car.

The car was nearly pulverized. It was ghostly white and had smoke pouring out of it. I decided to let the men and women of law enforcement do their jobs and walked back to the house.

I still have no idea what happened last night. I watched the clean-up from the back porch as I gabbed on the phone with an internet rock-star (who I met very briefly years ago while living in Brooklyn.) She’s an awesome chick. And by way of my leaving one small post on another Web site about my fear of things exploding, and then an email exchange, my phone was ringing at 1:30 a.m. We talked into the wee hours of the night about how we fled from New York after September 11th and how we’ll never get over that. We talked about upcoming marriages and future labor pains. We talked about meeting up someday soon – in Ohio. I remade a new friend.

The cops were there until two a.m. and then at around 3 the flat-bead tow truck showed up to remove the remains.

I’m curious how it is a car comes to explode three times in the middle of a sleepy neighborhood.

Last night, during the presidential debates, there was a moment where Kerry was answering Bob Schieffer’s question about the strong women in the each of their lives. Bush answered first, eloquently, I might add, and then Kerry proceeded. He first gave Bush a kudos for being such a great family man/father. He then spoke about how the three of them (Bob Schieffer, George W. Bush, and Kerry) marrying up. He said:

Well, I guess the president and you and I are three examples of lucky people who married up. And some would say maybe me more so than others. But I can take it.

I’m realizing today that most took this to mean money. Some even bashed him saying it was a tasteless joke. I took it to mean looks as people ruthlessly make fun of John Kerry for being “ugly” or “homely”.

What did you think he meant by this? Soung and I had a debate of our own regarding his comment. And judging by the some of the News reports, people are agreeing with Soung.

My most amazing husband has been given a PHP book deal. It’s going to give him tummy aches and fitfull, sleepless nights of teeth-grinding and pacing the apartment, but it’s totally worth it. And he’s the poo. And Chandler is the poo for hooking him up with the publisher.

The link is already up at Amazon. But you will notice that it still reads Chandler’s name. Soon, that will be one Toby Joe Boudreaux.

Congratulations, sweet boy of mine. :] I love you.

Toby and I got up at 4:30 this morning so I might drop him off for a 6:45 a.m. flight back to San Francisco. It’s now 8:30 a.m. and I am dead-tired. Already. And the work-day has only just begun.

Overall, it was a great weekend. It was nice to spend some time with Toby – away from home. It was nice driving around our old Brooklyn neighborhood. We stopped by The Garden and purchased 25 dollars worth of homemade perogies. We drove down to 1205 Manhattan Avenue where we once lived in a 3000 square foot loft over-looking the northern view of Manhattan. We visited Kate’s Joint twice and the Ace Bar. It was most wonderful finally meeting Rachel. It was great catching up with Essl again. But the weekend was short, too. It just moved by too quickly. Before I knew it, we were setting a most alarming 4:30 a.m. wake-up call last night at 11.

I haven’t had a lot of time to update as of late. I’ve been sort of neglecting it. My interest is still in there somewhere, I think. But I’m not sure how or when I’ll rediscover it again. I’m going through one of those periods where I think of throwing in the towel and calling it a quits. Then again, I could just be tired – mentally drained. I could just be worn out from being away from home for so long, living out of a suitcase, using my cell phone as an alarm clock. I think I am ready for home.

It’s been a long, long 3 weeks. And looking ahead at two more makes me want to cry a little. Our work better pay off. Kerry better win. (When I read articles like this one I lose a little more faith in humanity. Freedom of press aside, this is blatant abuse.) Who am I kidding, I have no control. But let’s say that I did. I’d like to see advertisers pull-out. Oh, hell, there are so many things wrong this, I don’t even know where to begin.

Sometimes, there is so much going on in real life it’s hard to keep up in writing.

...has wireless. Can you believe that? In three years, not much here has changed. But it does have wireless. I am using that now.

Toby and I are currently sitting in a booth at the bar in which we met three years ago tomorrow. We drove into the city today from DC. The leaves along the Jersey Turnpike are just beginning to change. There are more Cinnabons at roadstops. I’m starting to think that the cost of tolls are about the price of a train ticket. These things have changed. As well as the Ace Bar having wireless.

The Ace Bar has wireless. And NYC feels good, sort of like a scarf or like eating mashed potatoes. If I could figure out a way to send wireless mashed potatoes, you’d all feel a bit sleepy.

I’ll end by saying, that if you’re in NYC and you’re reading this because you too might have wireless, it’d be nice if you sent yourself here. And if for some reason on a Sunday in October, you feel like moving, stop on by. We’ll be here for hours. On wireless.

After all, it’s only 4:35 out west.

Tomorrow, I will write the story about how it is we met. But it’s too long to get into right now. Even though the Ace Bar has wireless and I’m writing from the booth which was once covered in cupcakes celebrating a birthday and the departure of Toby.

And that was long before the Ace Bar had wireless. But there were more cupcakes.

Toby just looked at me and said, “I wish Chandler was here, man.”

Chandler too has wireless.

I really should have made cupcakes.

Take it away, internet people.

Ever wake up feeling totally inspired? Today, I woke up feeling rejuvenated – it’s a good thing, too. Today is our busiest day yet. Nuts.

I’d like to begin by setting a few things straight, however. Toby and I are not separated. I am here making money. That is all. I miss him dearly. I even miss San Francisco (Crazy, eh?) I do not plan on moving in with Soung or moving back to D.C. Yet. (hehe. Though if work is not found out west soon, then who knows. There is only so much time one can waste feeling like a waste.) I have no brain power these days for figuring much out. I’m still trying to figure out how or why or IF I am going to fly to SF on Saturday. My flight leaves at 6 a.m. out of Dulles. I’d like to celebrate the day with Toby. As the 11th is the day we met. But I can’t imagine being picked up in a Blue Van at 3:30 in the morning. The thought makes me hurt. Speaking of thought, sorting it has become work, whereas work has become instinct. For example, things like eating and sleeping have been necessities I have been forgetting to do. I don’t even know how to return a phone call. And I feel badly about that. For the first time in a long time, I am running out of minutes that make up a day. Before I know it it’s midnight and I’m falling asleep in my pants on a couch surrounded by dogs.

Another think I might clear up, is that I’m not editing this post. I have exactly 10 minutes to post this. Who can reread?

So this morning, I woke up really elated. Music helps. More specifically, happy Garden State and Postal Service music. And brownies. Brownies help, too. Today, at Bates Neimand, is brownie day. Tomorrow, is Cookie Puss day. I like Carvel cakes. The chocolate nugget things in the middle please me greatly.

(Holy crap, where am I going with this post? See what I mean about feeling excitable? Wrap it up, Michele.)

Elation. Today I found that I wanted to hug people. I wanted to dance with the gal applying make-up on the jerky Metro. (Put that pencil down, my dear. You’ll look less absurd doing the Running Man.) I wanted to paint another. I’d choose to sing to an older man. And take pictures of his grandson. I wanted to buy cider for a mean old lady. Pet someone’s shitting dog. I wanted to offer piggy-backs to those who struggle when they walk. I wanted to pinch the puffy pillow-pressed faces of everyone I saw.

People, and me, are so much better in the morning.

And now to meet the rest of this day.

The last few days, I have felt rather out of sorts. Tucked someplace between crazy, excitable, and totally confused.

I am not a fan of reality television. I haven’t ever been a fan of reality television. I have yet to sit through an entire episode of The Real World. I never been into Big Brother. And I have no desire to watch a bunch of over-done-up ex sorority babes figure out which closeted gay guy they want to marry. There was that time I watched Survivor – a few years back. It was the one with that little cute gal and that big mean gal and the gay guy who eventually won a million dollars. I think he was later brought up on molestation charges. I have no idea.

But I had a thought about reality television last night as I sat at Buffalo Billards and watched the vice presidential debate on one of their many massive, wide-screen televisions. There were hundreds of people there. Most of them were there to watch the debate. The management printed signs and posted them all over the place. The signs read:

The jukebox will be turned off at nine for the Vice Presidential Debates.

How totally exciting. Does this happen elsewhere? Does this happen in other cities? I am genuinely wondering. Because twice, since I have been here, I have watched a political debate at a public venue surrounded by strangers. And not only were we all staring up at the screens like a room full of jocks during the Superbowl, but most of us went out specifically to watch them. And that’s pretty damn cool if you ask me.

So I began to wonder, has it always been this way? Have people always met in bars to watch the presidential debates? Have they always cheered, moaned, clapped, and hollered at the T.V. screen? Has reality television helped us all take a “show” of this nature a bit more seriously? Are we better at paying attention to how people talk to one another? How they relate to one another?

Maybe I am the one who changed. I mean, had I been at home watching this alone, I still would have been impressed that it meant so much to me – that I watched at all. But it seems to be everyone else as well. Did Jon Stewart and Ali G make it cool to care? Did George Bush make us all wary of where we might end up? Is it the war? Now that I wrote it out, all of that makes a bit more sense than giving the credit to reality television. In the end, it’s nice to see people pay attention at all.

We may be living in a chaotic, uncertain time. But I think it’s a pivotal time as well. Let’s just hope our new direction proves to be a positive one.

I was flipping thru the channels recently and I hit the WB and noticed an ad for Jack and Bobby. On that advertisement, they were playing the Secret Machines.

I am not sure why I was surprised. I mean, they are a fantastic band. I said so before but I still found it odd. One of the fellas used to make Toby and I our morning bagels.

Last week, while TobyJoe was here, we went out a lot. And like most people who go out a lot, we drank a lot, too. And I didn’t feel so great come Saturday when I dropped him off at the airport. After a week of staying out late, waking up early and drinking booze, one can’t help but feel sort of bad, both physically and mentally.

That said, I decided to be a good little girl come Sunday and take care of myself for (hopefully) the duration of my stay here. That may not sound so hard. But when you stay with other people, or you’re away from home, you find yourself shadowing their lives, even if it’s unconscious. At least this is what happens to me. Maybe it’s out of politeness. Maybe it’s out of desire. Maybe it’s just because you’re not really sure what else you should be doing, either way, I find that this happens while away from home.

The past few days, I have declined to do much of anything at all. Instead, for the sake of my own head and body, I have called every night early by heading home right after my 12 or 13 hour day. And it’s been pretty nice. I won’t deny. The one thing, however, that drives me green with envy, is Soung’s ability to NOT ever seem or feel hungover. Ever. Like never. Ever. She can stay up late every night, even drink some, and never feel badly. How is it some people can do this while others, should they have three drinks in one night, wake up feeling like someone filled their body with damp sand sometime during the night?

Truth is, I envy Soung. She’s skinnier than I have ever seen her. She’s muscular. She looks amazing AND she is still able to stay out late, drink some, and be social without waking up the next day dead in the head.

Last night, I went to bed at 9. I watched Las Vegas and CSI Miami. I watched Jon Stewart. I called Toby to tell him how funny it’s going to be for him in three hours. I watched Howard Dean on Letterman. I read. And went to bed. All the while, Soung was out visiting friends, chatting it up, having some drinks, and playing some pool. Things happen. They do. They happen while you sleep. Things are always happening when you’re not around.

At one point in my life, this fact used to bug me. Now, I think I’m finally learning how to relax.

(Now, if only Tucker could figure this out.)

I thought this might be a nice thing to share with the rest of you. Remember the Macromedia Article I wrote on the a beginner’s guide to its drawing tools? I have received quite a bit of feedback. (Keep them coming, positive or negative. I need to learn from this.) Along with the numerous insults regarding my red house (which someone actually said it looks like a drawing someone developmentally challenged might create during a therapy session) I received many comments regarding my photograph.

Here are a few of my favorites:

• It looks like you know something you’re not sharing with the rest of us. Like, “I’m making all of this up.”
• Yeah, I’ve seen you look better.
• You look downright evil.
• You should have let me take your photograph.
• Awwwwww
• You look like a crackhead
• You look like a cartoon character of yourself
• You don’t look like you.
• Are you trying to seduce me?
• That picture… it just flat out needs to change.
• Ewwwwwww. Gross.
• Are you on drugs?
• You just look scary.

Next week: The Red House Commentary.

So I was just looking through one of Soung’s Dwell magazines and there was this picture of San Francisco. And I sort of missed it all of a sudden. Kind of interesting. Sort of. Maybe not really.

I find myself missing Glennwood Springs, Colorado every now and again and we were only there for 14 hours.

I miss places I haven’t even been yet. I miss people I haven’t met. I miss cars I haven’t owned yet, and apartments I haven’t rented. I have longing down to an art form.

It’s 3 a.m. My boy landed. I am on lap top writing from a front porch. I’m a little tipsy. Dogs bark. sirens chime. Cars pass. Doors shut. There’s a pre rain mist. Crickets are screaming a new history.

I love so much. I know so little.

Last night, Soung, Toby, Missy, Matt and I headed up to Bedrock to watch “The Game” aka the debate. I wrote a massive commentary about it within the framework of my very own cranium, but have decided to leave the “good political talk” with those who are known for it and/or good at it.

But, holy craptastic, was that one hell of a debate or what? Somehow we found ourselves sitting with a huge group of girls. I group I would call, had I been invited and were I still, what TobyJoe and I call a practicing “Lebo”, “The Dynamic Dyke Debate Club of D.C.” We were surrounded by lesbians. And they’re not regulars to Bedrock Billiards. I am not sure where they came from or why they chose to watch it there. Anyway, what a hoot watching them give the T.V. the finger. What a hoot it was watching strangers yell obscenities at a T.V. screen. What an excellent debate. What excellent lesbians.

In other news, I have been asked to stay for another two weeks. Actually, they begged me to stay. I have decided to do this since the money is so good. Plus, I can fly back next weekend to spend some time with Toby. (It’s our anniversary – our “Day We Met” anniversary, not our wedding anniversary. Incidentally, do folks give up the first one after they get married? I am not sure.) So, yeah. I’m going to stay. I think. Though, I kinda don’t want him to have to fly back alone. Man, I really am terrible at making decisions. I seriously wish everyone would and could just do that for me. Ah well.

Tonight, we head out for a big group dinner. Ideas as to where are welcome (D.C. people, or anyone, but keep in mind we’re a group of picky eaters if you care to make suggestions. There are at least two vegans.)

One more thing, someone tell Toby he should be a stay at home husband, write books, play pool, and make dinner. That way, he can always relax. I’ll take care of him.

Edited to Add: Turned off comments because (cough) someone blew them up. :]