Michael Phelps was BORN to win.

Do you know when 9-11 happened??

A conversation was started the other night, before events went south, concerning 9-11. Nick relayed to myself and The Boyfriend a conversation between himself and potential bed partner. Here it is, as best as my memory can conjure it:

"When did 9-11 happen??"

"I think in August. Yeah, August 4th."

"So why do they call in 9-11??"

"Because that's the number for the emergency line."

Needless to say, he was turned off. So Rich recalled asking the same question of a girl he was sorta seeing before I came along and snatched him out of singlehood. Once again, here it is as best as my memory will allow me to 'member:

"Do you know when 9-11 happened."

"Yeah."

"When??"

"Two thousand-three."

Can you tell me when 9-11 happened?? And why it's called 9-11??

Physical fitness is such a pain.

I managed to pass my PT test. And I scored a decent run time, a mile-and-a-half in thirteen minutes and four seconds. My dumb ass didn't stretch before taking off, though, so guess who was doing a speedy version of the Keesler Shuffle towards the end?? (If you went to tech school in Mississippi, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout.)

I came back to the office in my sweaty workout gear, and when I had my back turn a birthday card and package of cookies appeared on my desk. (Thanks, DM.) Then ML and MG came back into the office with armfuls of sodas for everyone. I am smiling as I write this.

Birthday headlines.

Looks like I wasn't the only one pissed off at the pundits blocking speeches here and there at the Democratic National Convention. The speeches I did get to hear were very rousing, very inspirational. I just wish I'd been able to hear the other speeches. Guess I should watch C-SPAN tonight instead of my usual CNN. I also wish Rich hadn't walked in and changed the channel to a Jean Claude Van Dame movie. Gr.

And, yes, I will also be watching the Republican National Convention next week. If I can stomach it.

We should all be as ballsy as this gal. Her husband hired a hitman to kill her. So what did she do?? She killed the hitman. Susan, you are my hero.

Attacking children?? Yes. McCain went there.

I went to escort NM into the office, and as soon as I opened the door I said to him, "Ask me how old I am."

"How old are you??"

"I am twenty-three." It was the first time today I've said it aloud. I am twenty-three years old. One year older. One year wiser?? Meh. I feel the same as I did yesterday.

Shit that happened on my birthday.

Happy Birthday to me...Twenty-three years ago, I was born on an island that sits on top of a volcano. Here's other shit that happened on this day:

• In the year 410, the Visigoths ended their sack of Rome after three days.
• In the year 1776, Americans under General George Washington were defeated by British forces led by General William Howe at the Battle of Long Island in Brooklyn.
• In the year 1813, French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte defeated a very large force of Austrians, Russians, and Prussians at the Battle of Dresden.
• In the year 1859, petroleum was discovered in Titusville, Pennsylvania. This was the world's first successful oil well. Ugh.
• In the year 1896, the world's shortest war, the Anglo-Zanzibar War, was fought between Great Britain and Zanzibar between nine o' clock and nine-forty-five. We could take a page out of their book.
  
• In the year 1916, Romania declared war against Austria-Hungary, entering World War I as one of the Allied nations.
• In the year 1928, sixty nations signed the Kellogg-Briand Pact, outlawing war. Hm.
• In the year 2003, Mars makes its closest approach to Earth in nearly 60,000 years.

Lyndon B Johnson and Mother Theresa share my birthday.

I don't know what class I'm going to tonight.

O Gray Saturn Station Wagon, why dost thy license plate read RABIES 9??

I like watching the news, but the voices of some of these people make me want to shove a pencil deep into each of my ears and smack said pencils with a hammer for good measure.

I want to marry the freecreditreport.com guy.

Aw, you shouldn't have.

A birthday card?? For me?? From the commander?? How lovely. And he addressed me by my nickname?? That couldn't possibly have ANYTHING to do with the e-mail sent last month asking for everyone with a birthday in August to submit a name they prefer to go by. And that's his real signature, not a photocopy.

Ha ha...It's kinda cool, actually. Previous commanders always sent them a month or two late. This one is actually a day early!! Oh, shit. I turn twenty-three tomorrow.

...

Oh, so that's how we're gonna play this game??

Hey, I have an idea. Let's just pretend it never happened. Better than coming to terms with it before happily moving on, right?? Alright. I'll play your game...for now. But when you least expect it, I will POUNCE, and the charade will end. 'Cause I say so. So sit back, relax as the days slip by in peace. And I will watch, and I will wait for an opening.

My coffee is making me a little silly.

I was let off work pretty damn early yesterday, and I literally ran out of my area like a kid released after a half-day of school. Of course, once I was out in the main area, I slowed to a more professional stroll. But I was in a pretty damn good mood. I decided to head right over to The Boyfriend's to help with moving. We manage to pack one large box before he strolled over to his computer and popped a squat in front of it.

"I haven't played Counter-Strike in forever!!"

"Yeah, not since Jay left." He opened it up and began scrolling through servers. "Don't you dare start playing, we have to move stuff!!"

"I'm gonna play, just watch!!"

"Don't you dare!!"

"Just sit down for ten minutes while I play." Goddamnit. I threw myself down on the chair next to him and crossed my arms. Then I became distracted by the little curls that were sticking out of the side of his head at that exact moment. I commented on them, because they looked so damn cute.

So I called my sister.

"Hello."

"Hey, Trish."

"Hey, what's up??"

"My boyfriend is so damn cute. He's growing his hair out, and there are random little curls sticking out the side of his head."

"... You called me to tell me about your boyfriend's hair??"

"Yes."

Rich ignored me the whole time. He had some counter-terrorists to kill, and the man was FOCUSED. I stopped gushing about the curls (Have you vomited yet?? No?? No, worries, I'll get you next time...), chatted a bit more with Trish, and then let her go so I could yell at Rich. He actually LISTENED TO ME (Holy shit!!) and stopped playing to load up the truck.

I finally saw pictures of poor Lola. She's missing her rear bumper. Oh, well. Shit happens.

I had my first Spanish class last night. What a fucking snooze fest...until she had us reading out of the book and spelling words in Spanish. Oh. My. God. You English speakers are HILARIOUS.

We did one exercise that involved filling in the names of a couple of celebrities with the missing vowels. A guy wearing a Pirates hat had no idea who Roberto Clemente was. He said he was more into basketball. Ah. I see. The hat is a fashion statement. LAME.

Thank Christ, we got out of there half-hour early. The next few weeks may be the death of me. Tonight, it's Algebra...I think.

Oh, and before I sign off, I will share with you the bullshit of all bullshit. Rich called that company to find out if they had a departure date for him yet. They have no openings for September. Unemployment, anyone??

Lost and confused...but slowly I am filled with hope.

My heart is a bit sore. The white flag is up. But negotiation terms have yet to be even touched upon. The words of a friend leave me confused and wondering.

A wicked combination released a Mr Hyde, and there was nothing I could do about it. I stitched up my wounds all by myself. When will they be acknowledged??

For a moment my world was turned upside down, and you were a stranger. You're back now, but my world has been left teetering on the brink. What am I to make of this??

If I were on the outside looking in, I know what my advice would be. However, I've never been good at taking my own advice and applying it to my life. But this is different. I'm on the inside looking around, and I have a different perspective from everyone else. I will not make excuses, but I can see the good and the bad. And I know on the deepest level that the good outweighs the bad in great numbers.

So I won't turn away. I'll stand my ground, and do what I can to shield you and those you love from the bad so that the good may prevail. I just hope you'll listen, I just hope you'll understand. I'm not here to change who you are. I'm not here to hold you back. Just sit right here next to me, let me take your hand in mine, and we'll work this out. Because nothing in this world means more to me than this. Nothing is worth fighting for more than this. I stumbled upon this by accident, and it was the best accident of my life.

We will talk, we will listen, we will get through this.

Abortion and wreckage in the eleventy-first.

I was at my place late yesterday doing some more cleaning. The focus was on my bedroom, since The Boyfriend had moved his bed and would start staying at my apartment.

Let's go ahead and focus on two of the three pillows I had on my bed.They're average pillows wearing pillow shams, decorative and whatnot. I moved them from the bed to the floor. From the floor to one of the couches. From that couch to the other couch. And finally back to my bed. And when I was placing them on my now bare bed, I noticed two fluffs of foam (the kinda foam you find in bedding or pillows), and without thinking reached out to pick them off.

One of those "fluffs" squished between my thumb and index finger. It was then I knew, yet I was in denial. I quickly moved on to the next task.

I went back into my room and short time later to examine the area on the floor where the "fluffs" had been tossed. I didn't see them, so I leaned over the pillows to examine them for more "fluff" when I spotted the fluff culprit and my suspicions were confirmed.

A SPIDER HAD BEEN LAYING EGGS ON MY PILLOWS.

I killed it, and left it at that.

Later, The Boyfriend and I set out to get clothes and a lamp from his place, with a detour to Jack-in-the-Box on the way back home. His phone rang, and he answered to speak with his friend Brandon. At first I heard him laughingly tell Brandon to cut it out with the jokes and what have you. But the more his friend spoke, the more grim my lover's face became. And even before I heard the words from Brandon's end, I knew: "...I hydroplaned...flipped over three times..." (Bear in mind I was in the passenger seat with the phone facing away from me two feet away. This may have been what I heard). All I could do was pray that he was talking about his bike, and not Lola, The Boyfriend's darling, his sexy Mitsubishi Escape. Of course, logic told me that if Brandon had hydroplaned on his bike and flipped it over three times, he would most likely not be in a position to call The Boyfriend to tell him about it.

I was dropped off and left alone with food for two, waiting and wondering what had happened. I saw Rich again briefly when he came to drop off my clothes for me, and he didn't seem too upset, which I took to mean he'd seen the damage and that it wasn't all bad. He told me that Brandon had lost control and hit the median, and then took off for the rest of the night to sort it out.

I took my sheets out of the dryer and went to fix my bed. As I reached into the back right corner to tuck the sheet in, I felt some webbing and jumped back, hitting my arm very hard against the nightstand. I vacuumed up that and it's minuscule occupant with a quickness, and vacuumed the other corner to be on the safe side. But I decided I didn't want to spend my night paranoid, so I put my new slip covers onto my couches and crashed on one of them for the evening.

Oh, and I definitely vacuumed more than 20 friggin' dead rolly pollies. Yuck.

Nine more months until I can move out this apartment.

Purpose II: The Joys of Purposelessness.

I forgot to mention yesterday the reason why I don’t care that my blog is about nothing; why I actually prefer it that way. I was reminded this morning when reading the comments on Black Hockey Jesus’ latest blog post. He has a daddy blog. But he doesn’t always post about being a dad. Sometimes he gets into some really deep shit. And when he does, he sometimes gets criticized for straying from the “approved” subject matter. “Hey, you’re a dad writing a dad blog. Write about dad stuff, and nothing else.” Fuck that, I say.

My blog, being about nothing in particular, can go in any direction that I desire. I can share anecdotes from my life. I can discuss my plans for my future. I can wax poetic/furiously vent about my boyfriend. I can post links to articles and share my thoughts on them. I can post my written pieces.

I CAN DO WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT. And who’s gonna stop me?? No one. As a blogger, I have the same freedom as any other blogger out there in the Blogosphere: I can write about whatever strikes my fancy. Black Hockey Jesus has this right. Yes, he has declared himself a daddy blogger, so it makes sense for him to blog often about the trials and tribulations of parenthood, but why should this restrict him?? Why should he not wax poetic on metaphoric staining and so on??

The blogospheric sky is the limit. Let anyone try to hold me back, and you’ll be choking on the dust that I leave in my wake.

Purpose??

Re-did my layout. Duh.

I was browsing through under the roof of a great house a couple of weeks back when I saw some information posted by laggin concerning a woman doing her thesis on blogging. I decided to jump on board and help out (I can't for the life of my find the link to the site now, sorry). I can't remember exactly what the thesis is about, but if you're curious you can e-mail her at aboutyourblog@gmail.com.

So she's sent me two rounds of questions thus far concerning my blog, and some of them got me thinking. "What is your blog about?? Why are you blogging??" Etcetera.

Why am I blogging?? What is the purpose of my blog?? Who am I blogging for?? All the blogs I link to have a purpose. But mine...is just a journal on the web. Earlier today as I was considering, I didn't like this at all. But right at this moment, I could care less. This blog is about nothing in particular, and I write it for me. I like knowing that people are reading it, that they find what I have to say mildly interesting. But I don't expect them to take away anything from this. If they do, good for them and kudos to me. If not, oh well.

Hooray for not making staff!!

I have once again failed in my half-hearted attempts to make the next rank and put another blue stripe on each sleeve of this oh-so-fashionable uniform. Which means I have once again avoided the responsibility of supervising some snot-nosed troop fresh out of tech school with the rosy and naive expectation of an Air Force that is more fair than anything they've encountered thus far in their early months of their enlistment. My only disappointment is not being able to crush that view and splatter its guts all over the wall.

Oh, and not being the next NCO D in a line of NCO Ds. My uncle and godfather, the patriarch of the D Family, retired as an E-7 from the guard. My dad retired as an E-6 from the guard. I suppose it shall be my fate as well, only I plan on retiring from the reserves. And with a rank higher than Staff Sergeant, thank you very much.

I am only a Senior Airman. And I guess I'm okay with that for now. It was too much pressure to have to study anyhow. And with the workload I've signed on for this semester, I'd rather not go to Airman Leadership School anytime soon.

Besides...Grandpa only made it as far as Private First Class in the army. So, nyeh.

I'm drinking tonight.

I feel like depressing you.

Maybe, if I'm feeling like it, I'll post some cheerier links later.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"The Afghan women jailed for being rape victims." Because it's all their fault that some guys forced their way under their burqas.

"Mexico's Cocaine Capital." I know what the theme of my next Cinco de Mayo party will be!!

"At JFK Airport, Denying Basic Rights Is Just Another Day at the Office." Welcome to America, land of the free. Not really.

"Toddler 'starved to death by religious cult because he wouldn't say amen'." The apostles said amen, and all they got was dry bread and cheap wine.

"Saudi girl drinks bleach to escape marriage." What would you do if your dad was giving you to a seventy-something-year-old man in exchange for a pre-pubescent bride?? Cutting off his balls would have been my choice.

Monotony.

The same thing, over and over again. An endless cycle. The never-ending entertainment of Rich playing Halo with Steven. Or Butkus, whomever is available.

I am so bored.

A burning question, a heated debate.

Yeah, it's pretty hot.

Sitting through yet another assessment, JB and I watched Olympic water polo on the TV above us as we waited for the assessee (person being assessed) to make copies of essential stuff on papers.

I turn to JB and ask, "Isn't water polo just volleyball??" She thinks about it for a moment, and replies, "No, it's like soccer."

"So, why not just call it water soccer?? Or even water fútbol..."

She seems perplexed by this logic, and so commences a debate on what water polo is, what land sport it is adapted from, and what it should be actually called.

Polo is a sport played on horseback using sticks. But water polo is so much like soccer. So is polo soccer on horseback?? After about ten minutes of this, a moment of brilliance: polo is lacrosse on horseback!! There's soccer. Then there's lacrosse, which is like soccer but with sticks. Then there's polo: soccer with a stick on horseback. But...lacrosse is called lacrosse, not "soccer with sticks". And polo is called polo, not "soccer with a stick on horseback." So why is water polo, which is soccer in the water with sticks or horses, called water polo instead of having it's own name?? And if polo is soccer with a stick on horseback, where the connection with it's supposed water version?? Where are the sticks and the horses?? Why the mislabeling?? And why treat it as a third-class sport not worthy of it's own unique and original name??

Honestly, what the hell else are we gonna talk about on these blasted assessments??

Still conscious despite all this choking.

I don't understand what's wrong with me. The Boyfriend usually reacts negatively when I try to explain a problem to him, but why I let this silence me is beyond me. I can't bring myself to talk to him, I constantly choke on my words. And I want so badly to talk, to explain, to make him understand, and I know he wants that of me. So why can't I do it??! Why do we always gotta go through this same routine?! Why do I do this to myself, to him, to us?? I even tried organizing my thoughts on a piece of paper so that I wouldn't stumble over my words or lose my train of thought, but the moment he stepped into the room I lost all my nerve. And then ended up rambling and making no sense.

Alright. Time to suck it up and try this again. I can do this. DAMNIT.

Let me point out that if I'm not terribly upset, I'm usually able to vocalize my thoughts, and he's pretty understanding. No fuss, no temper tantrums, just two adults having a conversation and finding a resolution. But if I've been really stewing and something sets me off...I can feel myself being strangled, and nothing comes out. Sigh.

I'm sorry, Rich.

The New Times of Phoenix has interesting articles.

Here's one profiling the "postmodern" John McCain, a fascinating read.

And this is a heartbreaking one about a guy who was the Good Samaritan and called 911, and may end up going to jail for it. What the fuck is this country coming to??

I would LOVE a four-day work week. Three-day weekends would become four-day weekends. Four-day weekends would become five-day weekends!! OMG, where do I sign up?!

You know, I have to say that on Election Day, I will be voting for Barack Obama. However, I do like to be as fair about these things as possible, and even though I would never in a million years vote for McCain, I would for once like to read something POSITIVE about him. If I'm going to be posting negative links on here in regards to him, I don't want to be accused of being biased. But it's so hard to find anything good in the places I'm looking!! I usually browse articles from all over the web on digg.com, but like I said, I'm only seeing the negative. Can anyone help me out??

Dude, weird. Vampire bats killing people?!

Look at this. Another negative article about McCain!! Sigh. Just read on, Davi. But wait, why stop there?? Another one!! Srsly, at this point, something positive would be refreshing. It's not like it would change my vote, I'm just looking for a change of pace in my political browsing.

I should probably put in a quick disclaimer real quick: Yes, I am voting for Obama. But, no, I am not here to "endorse" him, that is, convince you, the reader, to vote for him. As a member of the military, I am not allowed to do that. And even if I were, I am not the person to do this because I am politically ignorant. It is only with this election that I'm coming out of my own personal Political Dark Age into a Political Renaissance. So, read the articles I post, feel free to post your own personal opinions on here, but please, do not quote me, or at the very least, don't quote me as an authority on the subject. Hence my disclaimer at the top and bottom of this page, which will continue to be the case even when I separate from the military (or go reserve, still undecided).

Okay, I just went to www.johnmccain.com, and what I'm seeing is ridiculous. An official "Obama Tire Gauge"?? The Obama Fan Club?! I was expecting policy highlights. Instead all I'm seeing is the garbage being spewed about Obama. He's taking that whole popularity/celebrity angle a little far. And as for ridiculing Obama for his remarks on keeping your tires properly inflated...AAA has verified that this does in fact help out with your fuel efficiency. In yo' face.

And so, the search for positive McCain highlights continues. Someone help!!

Moderate Republicans for Obama.

These are some really interesting articles I came across this morning. If I find anymore, I'll post them.

Ike's Granddaughter Calls Obama "Future of America"

US Elections: Julie Nixon and Susie Eisenhower back Barack Obama

We Should Still Like Ike

Chuck Lasker Personal Site Politics Page

Kitty troubles.

So, my landlady busted me with too many cats. So not only am I forced to give up The Ex-Husband's cat, Tyger...but I'm also saying good-bye to my own cat, Mitzie. And it's breaking my heart.

Looks like Simi will be an only-child now. I will no longer be the crazy cat lady. I feel like bawling my eyes out all over again.

Non-pet owners don't understand. They never could. My cats are my children. I love them, they're my babies. They each have their own unique personalities, their own endearing qualities. Being forced to give them up is like being forced to give up your child. Now, if I had actually had children, it would probably be a little less dramatic for me. Nonetheless, it's heart-wrenching.

So tomorrow morning I have to get up and drive to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to meet up with the Ex's mother and sister. His mother will be taking the cats for me. I'm really grateful to her for this, as I had nowhere else to turn. It's gonna suck driving, though. It's five hours there, five hours back according to MapQuest. I could probably make it in four-and-a-half, but that's still a nine-hour round trip. Alone. I hope I can make it without making too many stops.

So, there you have it. It's just me and Simi now. I hope, when the Ex gets back from the desert, that his mom will be willing to give up Mitzie again. If not, I won't make a fuss. But I really hope I'll be able to see my snooty little girl again.

And for my 100th post...

...I give you, The Airman Profile's Creed.

I am an Airman on Profile.
I watch all the other warriors.
The clinic has answered my call.
I am an Airman on Profile.
My mission is to sit, surf, and complain.
I am faithful to my physical limitations.
A Tradition of uselessness,
And a legacy of inaction.
I am an Airman on Profile.
Guardian of restricted duty and malingering,
My nation's plague and hemorrhoid,
Its whiner and weakest link.
I defend my non-deployable status with my life.
I am an Airman on Profile.
Victim, follower, casualty.
I will always be the Airman behind.
I will always falter.
And I will fail.

It's already Thursday?!

You can't make this stuff up. I laughed so hard I banged my head on my desk.

From TechRepublic writer Jody Gilbert:
10 flagrant grammar mistakes that make you look stupid.
10 mispronunciations that make you look stupid.

I don't feel sorry at all for this English teacher.

Sexual harassment is the key to human survival...so says a judge in Russia. Are you fucking kidding me?! Russia has been officially crossed off my list of countries to visit.

So...Paris Hilton for President?? Meh.

We're going back...back...back to school again.

I think that's how the song goes...

I registered for fall classes at my local college finally. I was hit with disappointment concerning my management courses; they're each only one friggin' credit. Ugh. I ended up signing up for Business Mathematics (?!) for three credits. It's a full semester course, hopefully I'll make it through. The Supervisor suggested I just CLEP the other management course to save time and money.

Also, I finally submitted an application to University of Maryland University College, two years after first coming across the site. I plan on taking online courses towards my bachelor's degree. If I move to North Carolina when I get out, I'll try to transfer to UNC. Hopefully they won't give me trouble; when I was in PR I overheard my dad on the phone with UNC, and it sounded like they were giving him trouble about transferring his credits over from the Interamerican University of Puerto Rico. Lame.

Yes, I fully intend on taking three full semester courses this semester in the classroom as well as taking online courses. Rich is going to Afghanistan, and I don't have many friends. I need something to occupy my time for the next year. Besides, I've been procrastinating waaaay too much on my education. A lot of the people that showed up at this base at the same time as me already have their CCAF degrees, and some of them are well on their way to getting another degree. I've been slacking!!

Oh, he's a funny one.

Not really.

Our flight commander sent a calender appointment for an upcoming flight call. He ended the message with, "Be there or be square."

That dude tries too hard to be hip. What kills me is that it's so unnecessary. Major C, we like you just the way you are. Please, stop trying.

Strength and VALUES.

Written 31 August 2005.

We underestimate our ability to help ourselves. We seek help from others, sometimes therapy, in the hopes that someone else will be able to solve our problems. This is an incorrect assumption, thinking that someone else can fix our problems. Only I can solve my problems, no one else. But sometimes, we need someone to help us tap into our inner strength; that is the purpose of therapy and such. One need only tap into that well of strength, and from there, conquer the world.

Today, the idea of VALUES was brought to my attention. Imagine that you are witnessing your own funeral. Who will be there?? The people that matter to you: spouse/significant other, children, family, friends. Will the boss that hates you be there?? Will the co-worker that irritates the hell out of you be there?? Will your landlord be there?? No. So why why should any of them matter?? Granted, today they are causing problems. But tomorrow, you're not gonna care. Why worry about the things that, in the grand scheme of things, don't even matter. Don't let that boss, co-worker, or landlord get to you. All that matters is your family, your friends, your pets, your career, and your happiness. Nothing else. What a lovely thing to have hitting you in the head when you're feeling down...

(c) 2006 - 2008 almighty-davi.deviantart.com

Only forward.

People surrounded her as she climbed the steps of the old tower, yet she felt completely alone. No one took any notice of her; she was invisible. Up and up she went, gazing out the windows as she passed them to see how far she'd gone. She reached the top, and stepped out into the glaring sunlight. All around her, every where she turned, she saw an endless blue sky dotted with white and gray clouds that capped the lush green mountains surrounding the lone tower. The people around her oohed and ahhed at the sight, snapping photos of the scenery and of each other. She wished they would all go away so that she might enjoy this moment on her own. In the distance she could see a town, which suddenly seemed much further away than it actually was. Gazing at the mountains, she could feel the mixed blood of her ancestors in her veins pulsing through her body. She was the brown native, taking from and giving to the land in equal parts. She was the white conqueror, encroaching on those long established here. She was the black captive, forced to work this strange land far from home. She was all of these and none of these, rooted in the past yet looking to the future. This was her home as it much as it was the home of the brown native, yet at the same time it was strange and foreign to her as it was to the white conqueror and the black captive. It was beautiful and alluring, calling to her in a way nothing else did. And yet as it called to her it contradicted itself with its strangeness, forever leaving her to feel the intruder in the midst of the lush, strange beauty. She turned to head back down the stairs, and by the time she had reached the bottom the momentary sense of belonging had completely dissipated. Once again she was wholly a visitor, and nothing more.

She sits at her desk, her feet once again firmly planted in the reality of her existence. She gazes for a moment at the souvenirs she has brought in. She feels nothing for them. Something inside her yearns to return to those moments, but the yearning is a weak thing. This is where she belongs; this is where she fits in. Those mountains are her past, and her roots go deep there. But where she is now will lead to her future, and this is home now. She can go back and visit; but she can never really go back. Only forward.

(c) 2008 almighty-davi.deviantart.com

THE WIND IN YOUR VAGINA.

Look over there. On the right. Scroll down a bit. See that?? That's my blog roll. See the one entitled THE WIND IN YOUR VAGINA?? Read it. Is it all true?? Is it all a pack of lies?? Is it a fascinating mix of the two?? Who knows?? Who cares?? The fact of the matter is, it's totally awesome and hilarious. And my endorsement of this blog written by Black Hockey Jesus is in no way related to him adding me to his blog roll. For serious.

You're my sweetheart.

It's two ay-em, and I'm the designated driver. Rich has just finished yelling the directions home at me, and I'm not pleased. His music is blaring, but suddenly he turns it down for a moment.

"I love you. You know that, right??"

Half-hearted grin. I'm supposed to be irritated.

"Seriously, I'm not just saying that 'cause I'm drunk. I really love you. You're my sweetheart."

Full-blown genuine grin as my heart melts. You're my sweetheart, too.

The Little Arachnid that wouldn't go away, and other stuffs.

Feeling that the antagonist of yesterday has moved on to less mobile pastures, I trudge over to the driver's side this morning, tired and cranky about having to go to PT. As I reach for the handle, I freeze. There it is. A full blown web. Not the stringy thing of yesterday. An actual web. Curse the little bastard!!

I walk around to the passenger side to climb in...and I just stand there, staring miserably at the car, clicking the un-arm button for the alarm over and over. I walk back inside and timidly ask Rich, who is lying in bed hung over from last night's shenanigans, "Can I borrow your car??"

"No!! You have to work. I'm not gonna be stranded here all [the 'all' drawn out in true irritated New York fashion] day!!" Sigh. I grab his broom (which I've never seen him use), and trudge back outside.

I wipe away the web, and have to psyche myself up to bang out the mirror four times. The little sucker isn't budging, so I carry the broom back inside, and resign myself to climbing in through the passenger side.

I'm at the last light before coming to the gate when I jump and cry out at the sight of that bastard. And so began, and I'm not embarrassed to admit this, my negotiations with that tiny protagonist.

I must pause to note here that fear has a funny was of distorting images and memories. Yesterday, its body alone was the size of a quarter and it was bright orange with black stripes. Today, it is merely brown fading into a lighter brown that might appear orange in a certain light, and the entirety of the body to include its legs is the size of a quarter. Huh.

Anywho, the negotiations... "Alright, stay right there, don't move. I'm gonna drive carefully here, so that you don't go off and hide again. I'll have a gate guard remove you, and you can run off and find a new home. You can go live where no humans can bother you, and I can have my car in peace. Does that work for you?? Just hang in there, I'm driving as carefully as I can without getting pulled over for driving too slow!!" And so on.

I pull up to the gate, and I point at the spider. The gate guard, in confusion, looks behind him. I point again, more specifically and vigorously, and he's taken aback at the sight The Little Arachnid. He flicks it away from the mirror, and I almost burst into tears with relief.

I am now able to get in and out of my car on the driver's side without fear, and hopefully that goddamned spider has gone and found a new home in tree somewhere.

After that, my day couldn't go wrong, and except for the usual parking misery at work, I was in a good mood all day.

Last night we hung out at Nick's , who explained almost as soon as I walked through the door that he would not be blogging until I ended my hiatus. I told him that it had ended weeks ago. Apparently, he took my hiatus from my blog to mean that I was decamping the blogosphere all together during that time, and according to him I'm the only person who reads his blog, so he hasn't seen the point in blogging, even though he says he has so much to blog about it.

And after the fight he tried to pick last night, I told him to get on it.

Brandon, Rich's friend, was also at Nick's, and Rich happened to mention to him that he'll be leaving in three weeks, though there is still no set date. I was upset that this was the first I'd heard of it (he'll be gone before the end of August!! That's sooner than I expected!!), and asked why he hadn't told me. He responded irritably, "I just found out yesterday." What?! You've known for a full twenty-four hours and have failed to disclose this piece of information?!

Men are completely oblivious sometimes. I wanted to smack him. I was totally expecting a departure date in early September. I was really hoping he'd be here for my birthday, but he'll be gone before then. I would have said all this, but chose to hold my tongue, as this argument would have made his friends feel awkward (we once had a screaming match in front Nick...how embarrassing; on other occasion, I yelled at Rich for waking me up while, unbeknownst [sp?!] to me, Brandon was laying on the couch trying to fall asleep after a night of drinking...I'm sure he took it out of context and I looked the worse for it), and besides, he already knows how I feel about the impending departure, and the fact remains that he doesn't entirely understand how I feel. But that's okay, having a penis makes it hard to understand this sort of thing.

Anyway, I am in such a good mood today that I suggested to Rich that we go shoot some pool. And, miracle of miracles, he actually said yes to one my suggestions!!

I'm smiling as I end this post.

Oh!! And before I forget...the girlfriend of one of Nick's friends, a journalist, told me that she had seen my blog and that she was impressed by my writing. Yay!! A shout out to Christie!!