Holy crap, I really need to NOT post when I’m busy. There are like 49 tenses used in the above post.

And I wasn’t even drunk.

Something totally not so cool has happened. And I worried about it all night while I tried to sleep. It’s a long story, but I’ll get into it anyway.

Nearly three weeks ago (a week before I headed east, and two before Toby had) our neighbors, Bob and Cass wen overseas for a long vacation. We were asked to watch their cat, Bruno, until the 23 of September. At that point, a friend of theirs, Bahma, was coming down from Portland to take over and stay there for a few weeks. We agreed told them we’d be heading out of town right around the time their friend would be in, so it’d work out well.

Last thursday, I got a phone call from Toby saying that he hadn’t heard from Bahma yet and that their was still no activity in their apartment. I told him to get the number off of the kitchen table and I would call overseas to find out what we should do. I figured, worse case scenario, we’d have to ask Cathy (our beloved cat-watcher) to take over their house as well. Friday morning, Toby stopped by and then headed off to work. He said he’d get the number later that evening. Perfect.

Later that evening, the door was locked. At this point I was relieved thinking that Bahma had shown up and all was well. What I didn’t know at that point was that it was the bottom lock that had been locked and NOT the top, dead bolt.

So days go by. I tried to call them a few times at their home number thinking that Bahma might pick up. That did not happen. I begin to think that maybe Jim (the owner, who lives there as well from time to time when he’s not living it up in his second home, Hawaii) may have gone in for some reason, totally unannounced, and locked the door. This would mean that Bruno hadn’t been fed in days.

I ask Cathy to call me from our place the following day (she’d already stopped by that day) and give me his numbers both in San Francisco and in Hawaii. She did so. We called last night.

Here is the part where my tummy turns. Jim, again, TOTALLY uninvited and unannounced, LET HIMSELF into their apartment last Friday and LOCKED the bottom lock, a lock we don’t even have a key to. And I’m not sure that they do, either.

This means that Bahma, had she shown up at all, may not have been able to get in. This also means that Jim, the owner, is sort of an asshole. He has done this to us before, which was a pain in the ass only because we never invited him into our home and I do believe that this is illegal. This time, however, he may be responsible for killing an animal. And I’m livid.

I can only hope that Bruno has been able to drink from the toilet and somehow get to her food (which is on the floor near her food bowl.)

What an awful situation. We’ll find out today if all is well by involving the Rental Management Company. :[

I love cats. This totally sucks. It makes me feel ill.

Branson has always been a bit odd. Soon, for the low, low price of $200,000 you may take a trip into space on Virgin. Not sure how I feel about this. Another fun thing for the obscenely rich to rant about.

Today, the District finds out, finally, if the Expos will indeed have a new non-state home. I think this is pretty damn cool. Though, I do worry for Baltimore.

Last night Toby, Soung and I watched Tom Waits’ performance on Letterman. Holy crap, is that guy funny. We were whole-heartedly laughing through most of it. The bit about “cribbing”, Funnee. (Oh, if anyone wants to hook me up with the album ahead of time, that works, too.)

I received several emails pointing out the fact that my caption on the Hope and Vote campaign points out the possibility of my suffering from brain damage. This has become quite the comedic relief for TobyJoe over the past 24 hours. It was also brought to my attention that there are typos. Bates Neimand was not responsible for creating the Web site (only the print campaign, another firm took the look and feel and put it online). This fact makes it look as tho the first half of this post is quite possibly true for all of us. But at least I have emissions from power plants to blame.

I feel sort of out of the internet loop as of late. But our trip east is slowly winding down so I’m sure I’ll be back again, feeling sorry for myself and writing long depressing posts about how much I miss my friends and family. I’m so predictable. I have mixed emotions about leaving here. While I miss my cats and my stuff (specifically clothing, as I didn’t bring much) I am really going to miss being here. We’ve been surrounded by friends (and dogs) since we got here. It’s been really nice.

The place I’m temporarily working for is a lefty design firm. And during the election they are unbelievably busy, hence my being here to help.

This year something new came about. It’s called the Hope and Vote Campaign. Soung did all the design work for it (she is currently at a press check for said job) and it’s beautiful. Not only is the project itself a dream come true, but the design is flawless and the concept is awesome. And if you’re a single female between the age of 25 and 45 and you don’t vote regularly, you might find yourself holding one in a week.

On my second day in D.C., Soung and I were at Giant getting groceries when we happen upon the most amazing sunset. Like most people equipped with cameras, we took pictures. Soung took a few of me. Little did I know at the time, she was planning on using said image for the Hope Campaign.

Here is the Web site (which we did not do) and here is my debut.

Pretty cool, eh?

Let’s see, I’m going to just vomit this out. Here are a few random things I’ve experienced during my stay in D.C. (in no order, because I have little time.)

We rented a wheelchair at work for a photo shoot and had a contest to see who could lap the office the fastest. Scott won but George hit the wall and put a hole in it. I will take pictures of this.

Today, a massage therapist arrives and we all get massages. I am scared. I’m not a person who likes it when strangers touch me. But I signed up anyway.

People like EBAY.

Toby and I have been discussing our future. If you have pointers, please send us an email. We’re trying to figure out where, when, and how. (We’ve only just recently figure out why.)

Stepping away from the internet can and will cheer you up. (There is a HUGE post in this statement, but I lack the time and it’d be too ironic.)

I want to own a house.

I need to call Gerry back.

I miss my kitty cats.

Cathy rules.

Using a wheelchair is hard.

I love my husband. He’s cute. And right now he’s sleeping and I wish I could spoon him.

If you live in D.C. and I haven’t seen you, you need to write me or call me and we must hang out.

This post is lame.

I really think that this guy deserves our money.

A guy I am currently working with, George, knows this man. And apparently, he’s only raised 29 dollars. That’s terrible.

Edited to add: It’s been brought to my attention that I don’t pay much attention. The dude didn’t raise only 29 dollars, he raised nearly 30 thousand dollars. This is why I shouldn’t post when I’m busy. I am only half here. :] I am sorry for reporting false information and I will kick George’s ass pronto.

Thanks, Dee. You’re the poo. I will buy you a beverage of an alcoholic variety when I’m back in the Bay Area.

Missy sent this to me this morning. Pretty cool! Oh how I wish we were heading to Turks and Caicos again soon. What a perfect vacation/retreat that was.

It’s wonderful to see Kyra doing so well. She’s an amazing yoga instructor. Anyone living in the D.C. area should visit her new studio on U Street. I hear it’s amazing.

I think the most helpful thing I have realized while visiting and working in D.C. over the past week is how important it is to be near friends and family. I guess something has changed in me over the past several years. Perhaps it was right around having met Toby, I’m not sure. But either way, I have realized that part of my happiness as a person relies on being surrounded by – or at least near – friends and family.

I went out for dinner the other night with Missy. Like most friends who see each other after moving apart, we caught one another up on new machinery. I found myself introducing her to my feelings about living out west, she told me about her recent weekend in Toronto and her thoughts about her future. We both talked about loneliness and feeling bored. Our stories, as if new to even ourselves, stumbled around a bit, newly equipped with words. Before I knew it I was thinking out loud, trying to figure out why I have felt so down the past few months, why I have felt so crazy, why I feel that my voice has changed.

Since returning here I haven’t felt at all crazy. I haven’t felt lonely or lost, confused or totally displaced. I have missed Toby and my cats (which I have said probably a hundred times in my own head and maybe 99 times on here) but I haven’t felt lost. And though I have been without home since arriving here (I’m living out of a suitcases, sleeping a strange bed, and I have no Toby) I feel more at home here then I have in the 5 months living in San Francisco. That’s a strange feeling, considering.

There are a hundred clichés about what “home” is. And there’s a reason they’re overused all the time. I’m going to turn an old cliché (about home) into a familiar cliché thereby making it a place I will go back to every time I feel lost.

Home is where the heart is.

And it seems my heart is in a number of places east. My heart is in the Fall. My heart is growing in a pumpkin patch. It rides on the back of a box turtle along a green tree-lined sidewalks, and in hot cups of cider or coffee if you feel a little sleepy. My heart is a part of every snowfall and sounds off every clickety clack of every icicle tree. My heart is beneath a blue tarp-covered empty pool. It runs through rainfalls at night, and dozes during windy mornings. I enjoy all the old familiar seasonal smells. I like the crickets and pesky dusk bugs. I love wet leaves and ground that feels like cardboard.

I kinda like the cliché. All my life I have avoided a “home” due to my desire for forced individuality and discovering new ground.

Truth is, I’ll go anywhere Toby wants me to go. I’ll be at his side no matter what happens. I can promise this. Entirely. But there is a part of my heart that, should he wish to be with its better half, the part easiest to love, is happiest when it’s in the company of friends and surrounded by the familiarity of emotion.

I have mentioned before that I have moved nearly all of my life. There are people who have known others their entire life. I can’t say this about myself. However, the older I get and the more years I accumulate, this familiarity is becoming more near to me.

I am and have been enjoying my life out west. I have seen things I never would have the chance had we not moved there. And my relationship with Toby has solidified as well. Even if I fail miserably out there, some things are making sense. So maybe it was necessary TO fail. And I’m o.k. with that. I’m not even sure I should call it failure.

Life is not bad, it’s not bad at all. Life is starting to make a little more sense to me now.

Many of you have made fun of my Flash House. Don’t make fun of my Flash House. I’ll burn your Flash House down. Or I’ll give it termites – termites impossible to catch.

I got my first article published with Macromedia. Take a look. This has been most exciting for me.

The picture is a bit scary, I won’t deny.

(Thank you, Mike Chambers, for helping to make this happen. Craig was awesome to work with.)

Note to self: If you’re not going to spell check what you write, at the very least, read it first.

My goodness, I ain’t write good.

What a wonderful weekend! Friday night, Soung and I didn’t leave work until after 10 so we decided to relax again on her front porch and not venture out on the town. On Saturday, I worked for a while and finally found a T-Mobile store where I found a new recharger as I left mine in San Francisco. Later that evening, Soung and I (more Soung, than I) made dinner for Katrina and James. We made the most amazing salad and steamed garlic veggies. We made enough pasta to feed an entire jail. We filled the house with candles and sat around chatting. On top of all the eating, the four of us somehow managed to drink four bottles of wine AND stay up until 4 in the morning talking.

On Sunday, I woke up at 10:45 still exhausted. But I pulled myself out of bed and headed out with Calvo (Jeff) and Donald Eugene. We drove to Landover, Maryland and visited Mike for a day in the sun out at Eco Farms. I can not think of a better way to spend a Sunday. Mike took us on a tour of his property. He walked us through the field and into the greenhouse as well. We took a tour of the mudhouse, and walked along the edge of a pond in search of frogs and turtles. The day, the property, the smells, everything reminded me of my youth. It was perfect—a perfect day.

We stayed there for several hours. I ate all things yellow, like homemade mac and cheese, tortilla chips, lemon pound cake, couscous, and corn salad. All three of us laughed at everything. Donald came up with a most amazing cinematic concept. We’ll go into production if I can ever figure out a way to get back this way before the snow. (Thanks, you two, for helping to create such a great day.)

Yesterday evening, I relaxed and watched television. We made dinner again and ate around the table. We watched primetime. After calling Toby to tell him how much I adore him (again) I fell to bed early.

I’m at work now. I got here before nine. Because of my working on Saturday, we’re kind of caught up for now. But soon the changes and new projects will start rolling in. We’re working with the Iowa Senate Caucus, the North Carolina House and Senate, and dozen of other states as well. The pieces are really quite good and the work is morally sound (for me) as well. Oh how I wish they were EVER hiring here. But as it stands, they have a turnover rate of zero. Go figure. On the flipside, you really have to wonder about a place that is always hiring. I seem to know a great number of them. Anyway, I fell of track. Good day. Good. :]

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RYAN!

I arrived to D.C. yesterday at around 6 p.m. The flight was actually (dare I say) enjoyable? It was perfect – so smooth. Which is a surprise given the number of hurricanes and storms bashing the hell out of the south, or maybe introducing hell to the south.

Soung’s house is astounding. It’s truly beautiful. I hadn’t seen it before we left. First of all, it’s huge. And it’s in the District. She has a massive front porch, which we sat on and talked till an East Coast 1:30 a.m. All of the things I had forgotten that I had missed are coming back to me. The symphony of crickets tucked within the green plush trees. And the toads! There are hundreds of toads! I can’t get enough of the sounds and the smells. My senses are turned back on again. They have been slightly numb since moving to the West Coast. Perhaps, if we stay in San Francisco, we need to move someplace more woodsy.

..........................

So the above was written 8 hours ago. Now, it is around 9 p.m. We’ve working very hard. We get in around 9 a.m and continue into the night. It’s nice, though. It makes me feel like I’m doing something positive (politically).

We’re having a most spectacular lightning show right now. I want to run out there and say hello to it, bottle it up and take it back to San Francisco with me.

I’ll cut to the chase, I’m happy right now. I wish Toby were here, and the baby kitties, as well. But I’m so very happy right now, otherwise. It’s great to talk to people. It’s nice to touch my past and talk to familiar faces. There’s been a lot of laughter. I feel at ease. I feel at home. I feel comfortable. Finally.

Who ever said you couldn’t go home again?

Am I the only person in the world that hadn’t heard about the famous Blow Job scene in Vincent Gallo’s new movie, The Brown Bunny? I think that I am. Missy informed me of it today.

Note to self: Must see The Brown Bunny.

Note to everyone else: Today’s theme: Animals.

Ok, so over the past several months, I have actually received several requests that I make t shirts featuring:

Thing is, I created it as a joke for TobyJoe one night while we were living in DC and before Bush went all bad ass on the entire middle east. And well, it’s really a bad illustration. So, I need to decide what to do. Do I print it as is (I have talked to someone recently about doing so) or do I pay some awesome illustrator like my amazingly talented wonderful friend, Ben Scanlon to redo it. Hmmmmm? Any suggestions welcome. I’d like to get this done PRONTO!

Cheers. Please. Help.

(Permalink this by clicking here.)

By Michele (Written in perfect cursive while I was in elementary school)

(Picture NOT taken by me. But I did take the lemur.)

A Lemur is resembled to a monkey. The Lemur swings like a monkey too. Did you know Lemur means ghost because their so quick it looks like there magic and it looks like they disipear! Lemurs are also Squirrel-like, too. There are many diffrent kinds of Lemurs like the flying Lemurs witch has very good Protective Coloration.

There’s the Ring Tailed Lemur. Whitch looks like a raccoon but it is not a raccoon its a Lemure!

A ring-tailed Lemure walks with its tail up. Lemurs are funny anamals they have big eyes Most Lemurs have large claws.A Dwarf Lemur is a small its cute too I’v liked monkeys alot and now that Lemurs are like monkeys, I love Lemurs too!

The Dwarf Lemur is a very small one. Dwarf Lemurs are nocturnal, spending the day sleeping in there nests witch are built of smal branches and leaves. There body is 18 to 20 cm long (7 to 8 in. long) also.

Maybe today I’m just picking up on a little bit of my past.

I don’t really hate San Francisco. And I am feeling better just knowing I can go to sleep soon.

I was reminded that I get this way every time I travel. I don’t deal well with flying. I haven’t in a few years.

Thanks for the email and the phone calls. Oh, and Andrea, thanks for the AIM conversation. You rule.

It’s happening again. It seems I’m having anxiety attack after panic attack after fear attack after lie in bed and sweat and freak out attack. Why does this happen to me? Is it because I’m flying back east on Thursday? Is it because once that’s over, I have to come back here? Is it because I placed myself years ago, much further beyond where I am now at 30? Am I just like this?

So what does one do when they feel down and angry and alienated? They blame everyone else but themselves. Yay! Great idea! That said, please try and forgive me for this post ahead of time.

Things were going well out here for a while. I guess. If you were to lay everything out before you, like pieces making up some grand puzzle, to the eye things probably seem just fine. Especially since we all know that others have it much worse. As a matter of fact, one might tell me to stop my whining and that I’m consistently over-reacting. And that this sort of rant is getting old and that I’m a total bore. Hell, I bore myself. And should someone say all of this to me, they’d probably be right. And I would probably agree with them.

Things aren’t going well again. I want to leave. I want to head back east for good. I want to live everywhere and nowhere. I want a porch and a house and I want to be able to afford it. Period. I want to be able to afford to have a baby. I want to FINALLY relax and free myself of debt and worry and anxiety and fear. I want to sleep at night. The ENTIRE night through. I really want some fucking health insurance.

About two weeks ago, Toby and I were invited to join an online (private) forum. It is filled with friends of ours from way back when – from back when we lived in NYC. It’s sort of nice to be in contact with them again, even if it is only online. I have been doing a lot of ranting over there, getting a feel for what the past three years have done for others. And unlike many online communities, this one doesn’t seem to turn into a total scream fest where people are told they’re stupid and that their views mean nothing. And since I have ZERO friends here, (outside of TobyJoe and three really awesome cats) I enjoy their company, even if it is only PHP. On Saturday, I was on there ranting about the San Francisco Underground (yes, again). And a few people chimed in. Basically, the conversation began light and then, eventually, it turned into some kind of San Francisco BASH FEST and all I wanted to do was get the hell out of here. If you could have moved me that night. I would have done so instantly. I’m that kid at the slumber party who is picked up in the middle of the night because he or she misses their mommy.

Now, I realize that I’m out of line for saying an ENTIRE city sucks. I know this is just my way of making my possible failure out here NOT about me but something intangible and absent. I realize I’m the weak one. Should I turn the fingers back around on me, I will surely lose my grip entirely and probably just start screaming, (sort of like Homer did when he uncovered something dark from his childhood).

I’m just not “getting it” I guess. I am tired of hearing people talk about how Lucy’s nanny is going to teach her spanish. I am sick of hearing about what so-and-so created and how many awards it’s won. I am sick of hearing about the weather and the fog and the ocean and the hills. I have no car, I can’t get there. And I have all but given up on the MUNI, it fails us constantly. I don’t understand how someone can get a ticket for NOT having a hand break on a track bike, but no one here needs to wear a helmet. (Are people that stupid?! Well, I guess someone voted for Arnold.) I don’t understand why houses that totally suck cost 750 thousand dollars. I don’t understand why I can’t just relax here.

(I just don’t think she likes me.)

And please, don’t hold this post against me. I know that I might change my mind tomorrow. The unedited version of this post, the one I wrote for myself, is far more harsh. The unedited version features the ENTIRE thread from that online community. But that’s just so much to read. At the time it felt like the only way I knew how to make myself feel better after giving up an entire night’s sleep to a genuine fear and anxiety of my not fitting in.

I want to find home. And I want to leave my hatred on its front porch.

I’m asking for forgiveness for feeling so hateful. I’m not normally like this. I just want some good old fashion shade and maybe an iced tea.

This is our cat, Schmitty.

I don’t talk much about my cats on here for obvious reasons, but I figured it was o.k. to do so today. Recently, faced with the idea of losing him, I think it’s due time for an ode. But I will warn you, I sound age 7 when I talk about my cats. Especially this one.

Schmitty is the $1000 dollar cat. Actually, he’s worth much more than this but that’s how much we spent on vet bills over the years. And we’d spend much more to keep him around forever.

Schmitty is 12. He was born sometime around today but 12 years ago. I would like to give him anything he likes today – like fishcakes or mini muffins – because he’s perfect and unbelievably sweet.

Let’s see, about 10 years ago, he had his penis removed because his momma was feeding him a variety of cat food equivalent to the human’s McDonalds. (I didn’t know any better back then. Pets should coem with manuals.) We could have paid 40 bucks to put him down, but that was out of the question.

Schmitty has a plethora of nicknames: The Big Guy (comes with a song), Fatty Poopington, Professor Snugglesworth, Schmittholio (also with song), Tubbs, Turd Mahone, Tub-a-lubba, Buddha, and just plain Schmidt. There are others but they pop out during musical moments. We love this cat. Everyone who meets this cat loves him. It’s strange the way he looks at you. It’s as if he knows something. I am convinced he knows how to solve every problem, every war that ever was but doesn’t know how to tell us. But if he ever figures out how, I’m sure he’ll have a blog.

Schmitty brings me joy. Real joy.

Toby and Schmitty are the best of friends. When they met three years ago, something became complete. Toby takes Schmitty on rides when he gets home from work every day. These rides are sort of like a human’s cruise. And that’s what it looks like, too. Toby bends down, Schmitty puts both paws in the air and places them onto Toby’s shoulders. Toby scoops The Big Guy up. Schmitty’s tail wraps around Toby’s waist and they go on rides around the house. They stop at windows and high up places, places Schmitty could once jump to but can no any longer as he’s getting older and he’s not as agile. Toby lets him down for a few minutes to visit and then picks him back up again and they continue on. And every time this happens, I picture Toby with kids. It’s unbelievably charming.

Schmitty sleeps a lot. He weighs 17.5 pounds. (He once weighed 20.) Schmitty purrs constantly. Shcmitty will never attack someone. His claws come out only when he has to be put in a cage, and even then it’s not to fight, but to hold on for dear life.

Recently, Schmitty was taken to the vet for a check-up. We were told he would have to have his teeth removed. He had to be put under for this. Which we agreed to. During the day he was away, I worried non-stop. The house wasn’t the same without him around. It was empty and not nearly as fun or warm.

Schmitty is tall, and sometimes when I’m working, he’ll stop over, stand up alongside my chair, and tap me on the shoulder. It’s a little freakish knowing you’re alone in the house with three cats and something taps you on the shoulder and you look over and see that no one is there. But then I look down and see Schmitty and everything is o.k. again and I scoop him up and we snuggle.

I love this cat. Everyone who knows him loves him. It’s physically impossible not to. You’d have to be one heartless snake to hurt or pick on the Schmidt.

This is an ode to The Big Guy. May he live many more years, happily, fat, and with us.

For the longest time, September 11th was known as the 11th day in September. Then, during my freshman year in college, it became Soung’s Birthday. It remained Soung’s birthday for a long time. Then a few years ago, it became 9/11. I’m sure most of the people who read this know what that day was like for me. So I want drone on about it here.

The only thing that still remains true over all the September 11ths I have experienced is that I haven’t really ever known what to say or do. First, it was just another day in September, so I didn’t even take notice of it. Why say anything at all? After meeting Soung, it became her day and all I really wanted to do was figure out a way to make her feel a little bit more special than she had the day before. And now, coming up with something to say or do is even harder.

So I’ll say nothing because I have nothing special or new to say. But I didn’t feel right about saying absolutely nothing because that would just make it another day in September. And it’s so not that anymore. It’s very different now. But it’s still good.

So, Hello. To all and any of you who might be reading this, Hello. Hello from me to you today. Let’s all just say hello.

Hello. Say Hello

(Jon Prine: Hello in there. 5.11 mgs)

There is talk of having a Hostess Twinkie sushi contest tomorrow over at our place.

Here is the link I will spend some of today trying to figure out what to create. Ideas welcome.

I hear there might be lard in Twinkies? If so, ours might have to be made up of LIttle Debbie’s instead.

I can think of no better way to spend September 11th.

In less than one week, I am heading to Washington, D.C. to work for a few weeks and hang out with some family and friends. I’m combining work and pleasure because I’m poor. (For now.) And because I can. And because I need to see some Fall. And because DC is pretty during the month of September.

Even though I know one CAN drive across the country in less than 4 days, in the essence of time, I have to fly there. Like many of my other neurotic behavoirs, this one is all-consuming and totally irrational. The last time I flew I took xanax and that took the edge off. Actually, it took everything off; reason, awareness, fear, consciousness, and very nearly, my clothing. There were times during our trip where Toby would leave me for a few minutes and upon returning find me hunched over, drool falling from my face, feet wherever gravity decided to put them. It probably wasn’t the best time to wear a skirt. Probably not the best time to be left alone in an airport at 7 a.m. wearing a skirt, hopped up on xanax. But I ended up o.k. And if anyone touched my while sideways, contorted and covered in drool, I have no recollection of such.

I hate to fly. Already, I’m nervous about having to do so. And my departure is almost a week away. I am flying JetBlue. That’s good, I suppose. But I’m not sure why I’m saying that. What’s bugging me the most right now is that after I land this time, my worry isn’t entirely over. Toby arrives a week later. I worry about him flying, too.

Here is where I have to admit to something.

We got married in January. We eloped. And maybe it’s because there was no wedding planning, and there were no relatives present, nodding and crying in approval, but I don’t think my marrying Toby really sunk in until very recently. After we moved here, I started to realize just how much I need and count on him. They say the first year of a marriage is the hardest, maybe that was the case years ago before unmarried people started to move in together. I don’t know. But over the past several months, I have grown to love and need him so much more than I had before. When I force myself to imagine living without him… I’m not even sure I have words for this type of fear. Should I be told I would eventually have to spend my days without him, I’m not sure I could do it. I’m not sure I should have to. I’m not sure that I can.

What a selfish person I am!

I don’t like to be without Toby. And so I told him that he should take some time off and come to DC for a week to play pool and relax. He agreed to do so. He is to book a flight today. Recently, I started to think what if something happens to him because my needy ass doesn’t want to spend two weeks without him? What if – because of me and my selfishness, my inability to be without him – something were to go wrong?

And I want to have kids someday. The They Group should pass a law making this illegal.

(This, my friend, is why people shouldn’t eat ducks.)

A year ago today. and two years ago today.

Our big guy, Schmitty, is at the vet today having a small operation. I hope everything is ok. I wish they’d call. I miss him.

Yesterday at around 11:30 a.m. all of EVB (and myself) got on a boat and headed to Sausalito for lunch. There, booze was poured, shots were dropped, food was consumed, conversations were had (and stolen), poker was played, and people got drunk. And, of course, pictures were taken. Apparently, I took a lot of close ups. I think I decided that this was an excellent idea after my third tequila shot.

Booze is awful. But people are wonderful. Here are some wonderful people consuming awful booze.

If I spelled any names wrong, which I am sure that I have, I do apologize.

(Click on the images to enlarge.)

(Captions are below each picture.)

Gregor, Greg, and Liz

Todd, Jose, and Lucas

Jose and Sadie.

Lucas, Dave, and Caleb

Our view from the restaurant.

Here’s where the close-ups begin. Caleb

Dave

Lucas

Nick

Liz

Jose

Jeff

Jake

Aaron

Toby

Justin

Peter

Nuria

This is the stick that was in Gregor’s salad.

Holly reading.

Dave and Caleb

More shots were had.

Toby and Jake

Someone else took these. I think they fancied the pink.

Again. Actually, whoever took these pictures took about 10 more as well. Dirty.

Jason

Ryan

Greg, Jose, and Dave

The boat ride back. We should have gone home at this point. But oh well.

We dared Todd and Jake to jump into the Bay for a hundred bucks. Money was laid out on the table and they dove in. I have a video as well. But it’s 10 mgs. And unless someone knows how I might make this smaller, I can’t put it up. I don’t think Toby wants to pay for the bandwidth this month. We’ll see.

THANKS JEFF!!

Here’s the video

And here is Dave about to get busted for having an open container out on the street. Silly midwesterner.

A very wet Todd.

Daniel, Sadie, and Jason.

I’m sorry but who’s husband is this?

That’s right. Mine. Jose Luis has some excellent photography. I highly recommend scootching a bit closer and having a look.

Whoever decided that Hell is a place you go AFTER you’re evil and you die was a little off. I am here to testify on behalf of those living life with a little Hell. Hell doesn’t have to be all-consuming. It can be a smalll. Hell can wiggle itself into mere minutes making up entire days and during these moments, when Hell comes to visit, Hell is worse than an all-consuming Hell because it’s easily compared to what the minute was like BEFORE Hell showed up. Hell sucks. And if you should believe that Hell is filled with an assload of fire, then mine is sort of like this:

I’m pretty neurotic. At times, I am whole-heartedly neurotic. And I do believe that my neuroses is an enabler (or lack there of) to my depression that comes from time to time as well. For example, when I don’t have anything to worry (and fret and become neurotic) over, I become depressed. Perhaps I need to put my mind someplace at all times. I don’t know. I do know that at some point, I got a hold of my neurotic behavior just enough to stop all the insane self-diagnosis. I’m not sure when that finally happen. It could have been the time I decided that I could no longer swallow my spit after it had been in my mouth for longer than 2 seconds because it was dirty (even now, as I think about this, I start swallowing excessively.) Maybe I stopped playing doctor after I convinced myself that I might have internal male organs which hadn’t dropped yet. Or was it the Meningitis that finally stopped me? I don’t remember. But I do know that I fired myself from self-diagnosing myself.

This neurosis began early, too. I was once terrified of skeletons. When my very pleasant, all-caring mother (in an attempt to alleviate me of this fear of boney skinny things) informed me that I had one actually LIVING INSIDE OF ME. I became afraid of myself, believing that at any given moment this raunchy bitch might decide to bust out of my skin and leave me for blob.

Toby’s pretty neurotic as well. He’s neurotic in different ways. He worries more for other people than he does himself. He’s a self-diagnosed, non-practicing, non-religious Catholic. He worries about everything. And retrospectively, he thinks he could have controlled everything, but only after the fact and only if the fact didn’t prove positive. Basically, like any other decent self-hating Catholic, he is responsible for almost all things that go wrong.

Most of the time, Toby and my neuroses don’t meet. The days where I come down with a deadly new disease like Skeleton, he’s talking me down, letting me know that if Skeleton should exist it’d be too weak to break through the skin. On the days where he realizes he could have stopped Gacy from purchasing his first clown suit, I’m letting him know there are just way too many clown suits out there and he didn’t stand a chance. We work well together. Usually.

Over the past several months, my shins have decided to start turning themselves inside out. Basically, the underside of my skin has decided that it has been in the dark for long enough and it wants some sunshine. So it’s begun the transition. To put it simply, at 30, I have discovered a new form of Hell (especially for a fidgety, neurotic person with hands) called Excema. And boy does it suck. My legs itch constantly. They itch so badly they feel ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL when I scratch the color out of them. I have stopped doing that, now. I realize this was some sick catch 22, that I was placing myself into some conundrum, (not entirely unlike ‘No Exit’ or Sisyphus, and other cyclical stories about Hell.)

And I realize that this is a self-diagnosis (for now) and that’s because we don’t have active health insurance at the moment. But I am pretty sure I am right. You might argue that I am over-reacting, that maybe it’s just dried skin.

Here are the other choices:

• A). I have Herpes of the legs.
• B). I am dying of the Ebola Virus, or
• C). My skeleton has finally figured out a way to exit my body.

Excema isn’t such a bad self-diagnosis. I assure you.

Let’s visit Razor Mountain.

Yesterday I was sitting with Toby at a local brunch joint. He was telling me about all the things he could have stopped, I was telling him about all the neurotic little piles.

“Piles?”

“Yes, piles.” I answered

“What piles?”

“Well, for example, where do all the human razors go? They don’t biodegrade. We just use them, we throw them away, they go someplace, ALL OF THEM and then stay there forever. Somewhere there are just piles of yellow, blue, orange, clear, opaque plastic razors. There are razors without handles, razors from England, Japan, and America. I hate knowing about all those razors.”

“Hmmmm, well caring about the environment and thinking it’s a neurosis are two entirely different things.” He tried to relax me.

“Not if this idea kept me from changing my razor for months on end my entire shaving life.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s a neurosis.”

I think I have given myself Excema. And now I do believe whatever it is going wrong with my legs was born directly out of my fear of Razor Mountain. All these years I have said, “One more shave! It can last for one more shave!” have finally piled up (oh dear we have an overlap on piles) and paid off. I fear I have given myself a skin disorder by way of a neurosis. (Oh why didn’t I remain a full-on hippie? Why did I start to shave again at all?)

Am I being neurotic still? A little. Am I making this all up in search of a reason? Perhaps. But I do know one thing, I am willing to bet that in a few days Toby will let me know that there was something HE COULD HAVE DONE to prevent this from happening.

Like I said, we work well together.

We finally saw Garden State this weekend. I loved it. But then again, I sort of enjoy feeling down. I enjoy feeling down even more so while surrounded by other people who also might be down. I think that’s why I enjoy New York, too.

(Images can be clicked to enlarge.)

I also enjoy taking pictures in an attempt to document my not so entertaining, yet real, existence. And even though this weekend consisted of 2 parts work to 1 part fun, I somehow managed to capture stuff. Some of the images shown here were taken for work and then others just for fun. (And I am left to wonder how people might sort them knowing as much.)

If you want to watch this fella in action, here is a video.

Nothing in this post has anything to do with everything else in this post having to do with nothing.

Today, I had a conversation with a man at the bagel shop on 24th street in Noe Valley. I was in line waiting for the lady to complete my bagel. I ordered an everything bagel, not toasted, with Swiss cheese, lettuce, and mustard. This has nothing to do with the story, but I figured I’d let everyone know just incase any of you are ever in the Bay Area and you want to buy me a sandwich. There was a man standing next to me. I guess he was from the Middle East. But I couldn’t really tell just by looking at him. He was waiting on a roast beef sandwich. He was wearing a button down shirt, a pair of blue jeans. He was handsome and very well dressed. I guessed he was probably gay. But I couldn’t tell just by looking at him. And he had a wee bit of facial hair dripping off the bottom of his chin. If you see him one day, he’d probably like a roast beef sandwich. And I guessed he wasn’t Hindu. But I didn’t know this just by looking at him.

Earlier today I had a meeting with a once potential, now existing client. I had my snack-sized portfolio case with me instead of the monster-sized one. My monster-sized case is very difficult to carry around for an individual on foot. And since I knew exactly what this client was looking for, and they had already seen my work online, I packed only the necessary pieces and they all fit within my snack-sized case. My snack-size case looks like this:

The same case shown above housed the cds Toby and I asked the people who came to our post-wedding/going away party to make us for our drive across America. The case holds a plethora of good times. But one wouldn’t know that just by looking at it.

As the woman was tossing some mustard onto my everything bagel, I noticed my Middle Eastern friend was staring at me. It’s a good thing my meeting went so well, because any other day of the week I may have drop kicked the bastard for staring so much. But you might not know that just by looking at me.

He just stared.

Is that a breifcase?

He looked down towards my feet where my portfolio sat. He was smiling. He was friendly (but I didn’t know this just by looking at him.)

Heh. No. It’s a portfolio. Someone in the coffee shop next door asked me if I was carrying around gold bars. I don’t have any gold bars in here.

It does sort of look like that, doesn’t it?

No stacks of money either. Someone asked me if there were stacks of money as well. No money. Just design work.

Too bad there is no money in there. You could buy me a bagel.

I laughed.

My husband told me I should wear a pair of handcuffs and lock myself to it for my next interview. He thought that’d be really funny.

He laughed.

Yeah, that’s probably not very funny anymore, eh? If I were to do that right now, security would be called, I’d be put in a headlock and deported. I mean, look at me?

He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

I suddenly realized how he took our joke to be. When Toby first suggested this to me, I had pictured diamonds and money drop-offs, not bombs and deportation.

Oh goodness! Not that kind of a funny joke! It’s a diamond drop off sort of thing, you know? Diamonds are funny. I mean, considering they’re still dropped off this way. And I guess they’d think I take my design work real serious and all. You know? That kind of funny. No bombs.

That is funny. I knew what you meant. I’m just saying…Ashcroft would be phoned up… I’d be done. My days in the U.S would be over.

Yeah, it’s probably not all funny. That’s probably why I won’t ever do it. That’s probably why you shouldn’t do it either. I’d probably get shot. And you’d get deported. It wouldn’t be much of a Thursday.

The lady behind the counter asked me if I’d like anything else. I said no and paid for my sandwich. The middle eastern guy was asking them to go lighter on the mayo. For some reason, this shop doesn’t know what “easy” or “light” means. They often pile it on (but you wouldn’t know this just by looking at them.)

Have a wonderful day, sir. We should make things funny again.

I waved my hand in air. He wished me good luck. I picked up my case and left the store. Once outside, I noticed I was grinning from ear to ear. I really should have bought that Middle Eastern man a bagel.

Two years ago, if you had told my very serious, fearful self that one day I’d be living in San Francisco and on a Thursday morning in early September, after having been evacuated by NOT one but TWO MUNI trains that directly following said event I’d find myself in a bagel shop, laughing over a conversation with a middle eastern man about briefcases, diamonds and bombs, I’d have had you committed.

I have moved a long way from fear over the past couple of years. But you wouldn’t know this just by looking at me. wouldn’t know this just by looking at me.)

I would like to apologize for turning off two posts from earlier. I felt badly whining all the time. You must forgive me, those of you who saw them.

I also tend to lose my composure a bit more during the certain times of the month.

Today was one of those days.

I am sorry. :]

I’m cleaning house.

I found these.

1). Toby Feeds A Bird.

2). Pookum Gets Her Cute On

3). Union Square Dancing.

4). Union Square Drummers.

5). Beth Orton Tells a Joke.

And BY FAR my PERSONAL Favorite:

6). Doug Eats Ice Cream.

I made a video for Toby yesterday just to drive him more mad with the Muppet theme song.

I’m going to put this here instead because I’m tired of bitching and worrying. (Warning: Sound. The sound of my voice.)