My keyboard is sitting on a cardboard box

So two guys just stopped by and picked up my coffee table (plus matching side table).

I actually hugged the coffee table before they arrived.

I almost *cried* when I shut the door behind them, turned around and saw the big empty space in my living room. You’d think I’d carved and constructed those stupid tables with my own damn hands.

I would be a sucky Buddhist. I get too attached to material things, mostly because I attach too many memories to even the most trivial items. The high cabinet and the free-standing kitchen unit, I won’t be as sad to see leave my hands– but it took me TWO MONTHS to find that coffee table. I suffered the angst of coffee-table-lessness for two months because I was holding out to find the *perfect* one, and after painstakingly scouring the classifieds (FOR TWO MONTHS), I found it.

And now it’s gone.

It’s the sensible thing to do, I understand this. Two less items to have to move, and I really won’t have a need, or even place, for them in Las Vegas. The same goes for the couch (which didn’t take nearly as long to find, but I still put a lot of effort into finding this one). The day someone leaves this apartment with my couch in their possession, I’m probably going to pace around the empty living room for an hour, then curl up into a ball on the empty floor and whimper. Piteously.

And I still haven’t figured out how to handle the Mythical Spider. Shit.


*I* laughed, and that’s all that matters here

[On the phone]

"So what I don’t understand is why guys LOVE dogs but hate clingy girlfriends. I mean, isn’t that kind of contradictive? Dogs are high-maintenance and needy and want you home with them all the time." [beat] "Though I guess there is the fact that dogs don’t call you 17 times in one hour demanding to know where the hell you are."

"Well, there’s also the fundamental difference that dogs listen to you. You can tell a dog to sit, and it sits."



H: wow im having a bad grammar day
H: [H] (10:06:29 PM): whoa! and youre reappeared!
L: ::rendered speechless::
L: give it the voice of a cute little kid?
L: that’s way cute
H: i mean… im always bad with grammar via IM (even though it bugs the crap out of me off IM)… but today is ridiculous
H: and I am totally 5 years old and still cute
H: duh
L: I dunno about the cute part
H: hey
L: where are the bangs?
H: bitch
L: no bangs, no cute


The Mom: Why are you eating those? That’s an old bag! There are new ones on the shelf, why didn’t you open one of those?
Me: These taste fine. Besides, this bag was practically begging to be finished.
Me: [in my head] They were begging to be Finnish?
[start giggling and nearly choke on a Cheeto]
[The Mom gives me a strange look]

Films: “The Illusionist”

I like Sarah B.’s site. I like it so much that it would probably be
safe to say that, should I ever meet Sarah B., I think we would get

What I’m trying to say is, I respect Sarah B.’s opinions. So when Sarah
B. says 12 times in one paragraph, "Do not go see ‘The Illusionist,’" I
make a mental note of it. And I say firmly to myself, "Self? Do not go
see ‘The Illusionist.’"

But he wanted to see it last night (or rather, whenever we discussed seeing a
movie, that was the one he kept suggesting) and the only movie that’s
out right now that *I* really want to see is "The Last Kiss" (but it’s
kind of a relationship-y movie and that would have just been kind of
weird, and also he *didn’t* want to see that one, and also also I’ve
already demanded that the Hazmat see it with me), and I decided to
spend the three hours between lunch and dinner unpacking and doing my
hair instead of coming up with Things To Do…

So we saw "The Illusionist."

And you know? It wasn’t that bad. I mean, the dialogue was trite and
pretty forced, but the lighting effects were nice and the plot wasn’t
terrible. Nor the acting. (Though, I mean, I did kind of go into the movie with depressingly low expectations.)

Of course, the sound track was about a second ahead of the film, which
was particularly obvious in the intense, close-up shots, but we were
more amused than annoyed. Or at least, I was. I’m not sure if he had
any feelings about it either way.

Actually, for the record, I *did* push for "Everyone’s Hero," because
hey! A talking baseball! And a talking baseball bat! And a little boy’s
journey of self-discovery and personal growth! Who wouldn’t love it?
But despite claiming to be a huge baseball fan, he staunchly refused.

But he probably just didn’t want me to see him cry. Those animated movies, they know how to get to a man’s softer side.

The agent at Gate 86A was a total bitch this morning, too

My unofficial official move-out date is October 10. And I’m house-sitting for my sister from Oct. 7-14, so it looks like I’ll be in San Diego through the middle of next month.

My 24-hour turnaround trip to Vegas yesterday (and today) went less smoothly than I thought it would in terms of airport travel. Cancelled flights make for interesting itineraries and not-sleeping two nights in a row makes for great hallucinations. The best part was probably finding out that I did not, in fact, have to be at the Health District in person in order to get my immunization records, which was pretty much the whole impetus behind this trip.

Twelve days to empty this here apartment. Anyone interested in a 200-ton freestanding kitchen cabinet unit thing from IKEA?

Blogs: Out of Character

I’ve been writing this one in my head since the beginning of July. I actually started typing it out early Sunday. As far as writing quality goes, I punched out about one sentence of not-bad and two paragraphs of PLEASE DELETE NOW before scrapping the whole post. Paragraphs be damned. We’re doing this bullet-style.

  • I had been reading Matt’s Bible Stories when I saw one "Estella" listed in the sidebar blogroll. I’d seen the name around before and thought I’d mosey on over to her site and see just what (or whom) this much-linked site (person?) was all about.
  • This post was the most recently published one on that day.
  • It enthralled me, enough so that I immediately read the other, what, ten? posts on that main page.
  • And then the entire month of June’s posts.
  • And then the entire month of May’s posts.
  • And then started from the very beginning of the archives. I read every single post over the course of two days. [1] Making the process even longer was my determination to read the site in strict chronological order. Meaning I’d open the monthly archive, scroll scroll scroll down to the bottom, mini-scroll up to the top of the first entry, read down to the end, scroll up to the top of the second entry, read down to the end, scroll scroll up up to the top of the third entry– you get the idea. FRICKING. FOREVER.
  • But so worth it.

Continue reading

The ones that I don’t feel like writing titles for, get Annexed.

The AIM list just got streamlined. I had people’s screen names from
HIGH SCHOOL still in there. (Not that I don’t talk to those people
anymore; but these are people who have gone through seven different
screen names since. Oh wait, no, THAT’S JUST ME. Even so. No one’s still
using screen names that reference SHS or Skyhawks anymore. No one *I*
want to keep in contact with, anyway.)

The SIM card is so totally next. I’m mighty pleased with my memory that
I don’t have any numbers in there that make me go, "The fuck is this?"
and I can, in fact, even recall the exact scenario in which I
programmed in the number in question (see? near-photographic memory, if
only low-light VGA style!). But let’s face it. I didn’t call those guys
later that night. Or the next day. So odds are, two years later, I’m
not going to feel a pressing urge to call them and chew the fat with
them some enchanted evening.

I’d like to do the same with that damn Myspace page, but I think the
person on the other end can tell when you’ve removed them from your
"Friends" list. And I’m pretty good about whom I add NOW, but, yeah,
okay, I’ll admit it, when I first signed up and had like 4 friends
(including Tom), I wasn’t as high and mighty about it and accepted
Friends requests from people I hadn’t seen or spoken to or heard from
in years and whom I will probably continue to not see or speak to or
hear from, like, ever.

But, the point: I think you can tell, on Myspace, when you’ve been
removed from someone’s list. And Myspace users get all offended and
personally insulted over that shit.

Also? If I’m still in the process of getting to know you, expect to remind me of your name at least 6 times. Or 7, because, apparently, HA HA, "7 is a nice, round number."

Yeah, I’ve been on the computer *all* day trying to get this fabulous little showcase piece written which will either be up Monday or Tuesday, after which I am taking my ::af:: weekend. Erin, you’ve been duly warned.

One door shuts, another door opens. Then shuts. And opens again. And then shuts. And–

Part II recently, finally, about-time-jesus-god figured out how to get
*out* of a cabinet. It would typically go like this: I would open a
cabinet door, she would dart inside of the cabinet, retreat to the
back, and look at me haughtily, daring me to crawl in there and get her
out because LIKE HELL she was going to follow my stern orders of "Get
your fuzzy little butt out here NOW!"

Finally, last week, I got sick of imploring, and just shut the cabinet door. And walked away.

An hour of listening to "MEWMEWMEW" (the cat) and "thudthudthud" (her
pathetic attempts to push open the door from the inside) passed. Then
there was silence. Then I forgot she was in the cabinet at all.

Until she made a final, desperate break for Freedom! and Light! and
exploded out of that kitchen cabinet, sending napkins and spice jars
flying across the floor.

Ever since, she’s been improving her escape times and is hoping to make
the 2008 Olympic Cabinet Escape team, only I lost interest in helping
her cause a long time ago, demonstrated by my never opening the cabinets while she’s around, ever anymore.

So she’s been teaching herself how to open the doors from the outside.
So she can slip in and struggle with getting out, all over again.
Whereupon she strains to nudge the cabinet open again.

On the plus side, though, she totally just made up for sitting on the
"Eject" key on my keyboard a few days ago by pushing the DVD back into
the computer this last pass into the entertainment cabinet. Now all I
really have to do is figure out how to best exploit this talent of hers
to my utmost advantage.


[Update: She just stepped on the "Eject" key as she walked across the coffee table. Goddamn cat.]

The makings of a stalker

I remember weird things, mostly in terms of little details. About people.

You know how when you’re getting to know someone, and you’re making small talk about nothing you really consider to be consequential or important, hence it being "small" talk? Yeah. I remember that sort of stuff. The next time I see that person, I won’t remember their name, but I’ll know that they’re allergic to raspberries and their roommate’s birthday was over the weekend. Even if it’s a year later.

I’ve learned over the years, however, that actually *listening* to small talk and retaining that information isn’t exactly the norm.

I would suggest that I have a near-photographic memory as well, but I like Erin too much to take that risk.

Where It Is (Part Finalement)

{From before: Part I, Part II, Part III)

So, big whoop. Chick found herself a career community of people with whom she feels she relates exceedingly well. In real-world terms, what does that amount to?

I’ll tell you one thing: it doesn’t lead to said chick prancing around, excitedly telling everyone that her new dream is to grow up and become a HACKER!!

Because even if the term *didn’t* carry, however inaccurately, such a negative connotation– it still isn’t really saying anything. It’s still on par with saying I want to be a manager or an entrepreneur. It’s still thinking in blanket terminology.

What it does amount to, apparently, is this: the decision to go back to school, and get the damn engineering degree.

It amounts to moving back to Las Vegas to take advantage of in-state tuition combined with a very helpful Millennium Scholarship, which I have until September of 2009 to use.

It amounts to doing college the right way this time: taking specific classes in a specific order for the sake of enhancing the learning process, instead of taking whichever classes will get me that much closer to graduating (far too) early.

Continue reading

Kid-friendly, who knew?

The other day, a couple came by with the property manager to look at my apartment. They had brought along a little girl, maybe two years old, and the father carried her around on his hip as they examined the place.

I busied myself in the kitchen, putting away the dishes I’d washed the night before. Suddenly, I heard an amused "Oh!" and I looked up–

The father had put the little girl down and was supporting her as she stood in front of Part II, who had been pestering everyone for attention as soon as they walked through the door. Part II looked up at this little girl, and for a split second I worriedly realized that Part II had never been around children before.

Whereupon Part II stood up on her haunches and, sniffing curiously, put her front paws on the girl’s shoulders, leaning in and tickling the girl’s cheek with her whiskers.

My heart swelled with pride and affection. What a cat.