I am a Grown Up. As best I can tell, this means that if I want to eat hot tortillas slathered in butter and follow it up with chocolate chips, I can call it Lunch.

American women have PMS - pre-menstrual syndrome.

British (and I think Australian) women have PMT - I've decided that it must stand for either pre-menstrual terror or pre-menstrual trauma. Both of these sound pretty absurd, but I've decided it must be one of them.

My precious has blisters on its feetses.

Note: I am certain that Gollum in The Hobbit was referring to himself, not the ring, when he said "my precious." It wasn't until Book IV of The Lord of the Rings that "My Precious" became synonymous with "The One Ring."

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I want one of these.

About Mr. Rogers - my first television obsession was over one of his Operas. I could not miss an episode as they prepared for the opera, and it honestly felt like the single most important thing in my life.

Despite my devotion to shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Nero Wolfe Mysteries, nothing on television will ever be as important to me as that opera was.

I'm crying because Mr. Rogers died. Please comfort me.

I am registered to vote, but affiliate myself with no political party.

I am pro-gun control, but also believe in the right to bear arms.

I am well-educated, but hold no degrees.

I am loyal to a fault, and forgive too easily, but when crossed my Sicilian side takes over.

I am a vegetarian (sort of) but my favorite thing to cook is meat.

I am not a feminist, but I believe in equal rights for everyone.

I would rather be a monkey.

Haloscan made me cry, so I dumped it. Please note that I did not, in any way, do this for Matty.

Many thanks to Heath for all his help!

Because I don't want to type it out again and it'll be deleted from the Buffyguide testing forum fairly soon:

She was wearing a sheared raccoon coat, and Lane, walking toward her quickly but with a slow face, reasoned to himself, with suppressed excitement, that he was the only one on the platform who really knew Franny's coat. He remembered that once, in a borrowed car, after kissing Franny for a half hour or so, he had kissed her coat lapel, as though it were a perfectly desirable, organic extention of the person herself.

Can't we just talk about monkeys?

I should really be tired. Why am I not tired?

God help me, I've begun alphabetizing the hardbacks and oversized paperbacks as well. There were a few books that were hard to categorize - and I do mean between fiction and non-fiction. What? We have weird books.

In other news, I am about 2 minutes late in wishing Pat and Stephanie a happy fifth anniversary. I love you guys!

In yet other news, I am nearly tempted to unban Jennifer from my comments simply because I know she is still reading this and I am utterly baffled as to why. I doubt she'd say, and anyway there just isn't a good enough reason to allow her any closer to my life than she seems determined to stay. But still, it is somewhat tempting.

Blech. Just typing that left a bad taste in my mouth. I think I should have some yummy juice and start my reply to Beth's wonderful letter.

The trouble with alphabetizing my paperbacks is that I've got my James Kirkwood books next to some Dean Koontz books that I'm certain I've never seen before. Now, not having read anything of Mr. Koontz's, I am completely out of line if I imply that he is a sub-par author. However, it is not unreasonable of me to assume that his books do not match up, so to speak, to Mr. Kirkwood's, which I'd put on the same level of literature as J.D. Salinger. And of course, only one of them threw a hissy fit and stopped publishing, so I think it's safe to say James Kirkwood is one of my very favorite authors of all time, with James M. Cain and Shirley Jackson and Neil Gaiman. (It is, of course, only fair to note that I am aware of only three novels of James Kirkwood's, though I also know that he wrote plays. Perhaps he, too, stopped publishing. Must look into this.)

Speaking of books, The Return of the King is eyeing me from across the room. Bastard. I really want to see the movie unspoiled, as it were. The first two movies I saw with very little idea what to expect, and though I know more about this story, I don't think I should read the book first. I don't want to have expectations.

On the other hand, the suspense is killing me. Poor tiny Sam! (Obviously, I read the end of The Two Towers, against my better judgment.) I have other Tolkien-related books to occupy myself with, but half of the stuff I've looked at gives away major events in the last book, which makes it pointless to not just read it.

Note to self: Get a life.

Oh! Speaking of books (again), two of my paperbacks got stuck together during the moving and storage portion of this past year. I pried them apart, and it seems that the culprit was some runaway shampoo (or something like), and it is still all over the covers of the books. One of them has a glossy cover, and I think I can clean it with a damp cloth, but the other is old and frail and very much paper - any ideas on how to clean it?

I made myself a latte this morning, and had the unfortunate experience of drinking coffee, milk, and dish soap. As I was too distraught to identify the object responsible, I got a new cup and am now drinking black coffee. Not what I wanted at all.

So hungover. Yuck.

We went to a country bar last night for a rockabilly show. It felt like being home! I suppose this headache is a fair payment for such a good time.

Bah. I'm getting nasty at the WD. Maybe I should go take a nap.

I am happy to report that I found my diamond ring. It was my great-grandmother's, and is really quite beautiful. 30 diamond chips. Or 29. It comes to one of those numbers each time I count...

Anyway, I found it a few days ago, but it just occured to me that I had told someone that I hadn't unpacked it yet and was worried, and I can't remember who it was.

I'm a dope.

When I first began using instant messenger programs, I refused to use emoticons/icons/whatever. I think I may go back to that way of thinking, because I loathe the concept of having my tone represented by stupid smileys.

And now for a more serious topic: After an unexpected explanation to [name withheld] as to why I had him blocked on msn, I feel the need to get a few things off my chest.

I thought The_Avenger was hilarious. Detrimental to the WD community and deserving of immediate banning, yes. Hurtful to many people I care about, yes. But funny.

I was lied to by at least 2 people, including the perpetrator if the false identity, when I asked them if they knew who was behind it all. One of those people had no reason to be truthful with me. The other did. I've ceased communication with both, because I see no reason to continue false friendships. The former was only ever a casual, insult-each-other and occasionally-talk-seriously friend, and perhaps it was unnecessary of me to stop talking to him. The latter, however, was someone who I trusted. I do not intend to ever speak to her again.

I have been accused of hypocricy over this situation. There is a very distinct line between being amused by something unfunny and expecting your friends to be truthful with you. End of story.

Despite possible indications to the contrary, I understand why someone would lie to one friend if they'd told another friend they'd keep something secret. I do not, however, understand why the thing that was being kept secret in the first place ever happened.

There are a lot of people I consider friends, and sometimes I cannot be a good friend to all of them, particularly since several of them violently dislike each other. I'm trying. I really am. But it's very tiring sometimes.

Click here.

For your amusement � the msn chat log is back.

On grammar
Phoebe: How're you?
Annika: Pretty good. Or does "I am pretty well" sound better?
Phoebe: Huh. I think that the latter requires too much to be put in ellipsis--your brain has to figure out "I am doing pretty well." I read in one of my grammar books that one should avoid overuse of ellipsis.
Annika: That hurt my head. I'll leave it at "good."
Phoebe: Okay. It hurt my head, too.

On Salinger
Annika: I read "Uncle Wiggely" the other night, which I know I've read before but didn't remember at all. I liked it a great deal.
Phoebe: So do I. I understand it very poorly, though.
Annika: I doubt that I understood it well the first time - I think that's why I don't remember it well.
Phoebe: Yeah. I always forget what it's called, too.
Annika: I misspelled it, but it's Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut.
Phoebe: Oh. Is it? I thought it was "Wiggily." Huh.
Annika: It is. I misspelled it again.

On apartments
Annika: Oh! I had some thoughts about apartments that I wish to write down. It will either be extremely boring or just the sort of thing that you and I tend to talk about.
Phoebe: Oh! I love apartments. I suspect it will be the latter.

Phoebe: Your apartment is so pretty. You shouldn't move until I grow up and sub-let it from you.
Annika: The apartment next-door is empty. It's just like ours in mirror image. I desperately want to rent them both and have a Through the Looking Glass apartment.
Phoebe: Ooh, like Coraline, but hopefully not dangerous.
Annika: If there is a Will there with button-eyes I will be very upset.
Phoebe: You are incredibly cute.
Phoebe: And, yes, that would be very alarming.
Annika: I don't know what I would do, but I think it would involve fetching you and possibly Dustin to help.

On hair
Phoebe: My hair, in theory, grows very quickly too, but I can never tell anymore. Well, maybe it does, because I'm always trying to trim my hair-in-face. (I keep parts of my hair shorter so that they'll be in my face.)
Annika: That is terribly cute.
Phoebe: Thank you.
Phoebe: It started when I wanted to be like Phoebe-the-character. She has hair-in-face.
Annika: I wish to be more like a character. My trouble is that I haven't got a character in mind.
Phoebe: I know exactly what you mean. I want to write a book about wanting to be a character.

On The New Yorker
Annika: I'm going to ask [Will] tonight if I may renew the subscription. I shouldn't, because we're broke, but I want to.
Phoebe: Oh, the New Yorker is wonderful. I mean, it's really good these days, but in addition to that it's great for one's image.
Annika: I completely agree.

I just said the following to Phoebe:

"I wish to be more like a character. My trouble is that I haven't got a character in mind."
When I picture my ideal home, as I try to put my things away and create such an environment, I picture mysewlf doing things like reading the New Yorker on the balcony (must renew my subscription), chopping vegetables, watching the news (I'd read the paper, but I know me better than that), walking to the market for fresh fruit...

I am a total goon sometimes. I'll finish this thought later, but for now, just know that I'm a fruitcake.

A shorter entry for the benefit of my lazy and/or illiterate stalkers (hi, Matty!)

All of my stuff is out of storage, and I have located all of my Salinger books. I'm part-way through Nine Stories, specifically my favorite, "For Esme, With Love & Squalor." I plan to re-read Franny & Zooey next, then attempt "Seymour: An Introduction," which I have never read.

I thumb my nose at you all.

Am I a bad citizen or are you a bad journalist?

I�ve never been good about following the news. In fifth grade we did Current Events as a fun weekly project � we each brought in an article or notes on a news report and we split into teams of about five and did a �news broadcast.� We were given preparation time and did commercials as well as presenting our stories. It was�okay.

For almost two years I worked for USA Today. I was an assistant in the Advertising Sales department, and part of my job was to read the paper every morning. Well � sort of. Technically, what was expected of me was to flip through the paper and look at the ads that my sales reps had sold, to make sure they looked good. But they said that they were paying me to read the paper, so sometimes I did.

On September 11, 2001, I was sent home at about 10:00 Chicago time. I (and my roommate) watched CNN for approximately nine hours that day. I haven�t read a newspaper since, and I rarely watch the news. Oh, sure, I read the headlines when I had free access to the paper, but I didn�t want to know anything further.

Recently, I�ve started watching the news on television more often. It�s nice to have something in the background while I unpack, and I wish to be better informed. My news show of choice is the ABC 7 News � not necessarily because it�s better than the other news programs (I wouldn�t know) but because we don�t have cable and ABC gets the best reception.

I am going all to pieces over this business with Iraq. My primary issue is that it is, apparently, impossible to become an informed citizen. All day every day all I hear is, �Coming up on Eyewitness News at eleven, the latest on the Showdown with Iraq.� The what, now? It is my impression that G.W. is insistent that we will go to war, troops have been sent over in droves, celebrities are protesting, and the U.N. is insisting that weapons inspections continue and war be a last resort.

This cannot be the whole story.

On Friday, I saw part of the live coverage of the U.N. Security Council thingy. (See? �Thingy.� I am not well-informed.) Colin Powell, who if I�m not mistaken is the Secretary of State, and therefore a Major Player, stated that we (America, I assume) will only use war as a last resort, but that it must be a resort and we must be prepared. Now that sounds intelligent to me, but it contradicts everything I�ve heard from the President. Is this because G.W. is taking a more pro-war stance, or has the news been only showing the more impassioned portions of his speeches? Are we backing down because we don�t have the support of the U.N.? And why, for the love of whomever, would we declare imminent war before having the U.N.�s approval? Doesn�t that make the whole concept of the U.N. obsolete?

I am not necessarily opposed to war. I believe that Saddam Hussein is a Bad Man. The best article I ever read in The New Yorker was about the Kurds. I understand what a threat the Iraqi government is � in the Middle East. I understand that it is the custom of the U.S. to interfere � I mean help - in situations like this, but why now?

I swear, if I hear the words Showdown with Iraq once more without further explanation, I will scream. (People of Koreatown, fetch your earplugs.)

In other news,

Will�s mysterious errand on Friday was to Polkadots and Moonbeams, one of our favorite shops, where he bought me a beautiful necklace.

Will ran a mysterious errand today. I am dying to know what it was.

Also: in approximately 90 minutes, Primanti Bros. LA will be open for business. Or, you know, Barranti Bros.

In approximately 97 minutes, I will have a massive food coma.

And finally,

a poem by Shirley Jackson:

Song for all editors, writers, theorists, political economists, idealists, communists, liberals, reactionaries, bruce bliven, marxist critics, reasoners, and postulators, any and all splinter groups, my father, religious fanatics, political fanatics, men on the street, fascists, ernest hemingway, all army members and advocates of military training, not excepting those too old to fight, the r.o.t.c. and the boy scouts, walter winchell, the terror organizations, vigilantes, all senate committees and my husband:

I would not drop dead from the lack of you—
My cat has more brains than the pack of you.

Shopping List

• fresh Italian bread
  
• cabbage
  
• vinegar
  
• french fries
  
• tomato
  
• Swiss, American, Provolone

Any guesses what's for dinner? Oh, and does anyone know where in Los Angeles I can purchase Iron City beer?

Yahoo! Photos is a real pain in the ass. I have been uploading pictures of our apartment for over half an hour now. I think it is time to invest in DSL.

In totally unrelated news, I spoke to Phoebe last night for over an hour. We discussed many things, including sewing, Peter Jackson, Alexander the Great, raincoats, exercise, and public school. It was a devastatingly lovely conversation.

So today is Valentine's Day. It looks like I won't be receiving candy (don't want it), flowers (requested that he not pay the inflated prices for something that will die so quickly), or jewelry (I'm guessing, but I know the bank balance). In listing the things I will not be given, I don't wish to appear to be complaining, just observing. I told Will that I just wanted him and I meant it.

Last night, the five-year anniversary of us, we went to a comedy club. It was interesting.

Oh, sonofabitch. Netscape just freaked out and closed. I doubt if any of the photos uploaded.

Anyway, this comedy club. We went because my friend Lisa Beth's brother was one of the comedians, and I've been meaning to meet him/see his act for a while now. $12 cover and 2 drink minimum seems a bit steep, but oh well. Some of the guys were really funny, the MC was oddly attractive, and I looked fabulous. We're best not talking about the drinks at all, though.

Dude! It worked!

I'm going to quit now while I'm ahead. Happy Valentine's day to all of my stalkers. Your restraining orders cards are in the mail.

My hair is not pretty. This makes me very sad.

Dear Jane Espenson,

I'm really, really sorry that I said nasty things about you in Best Buy the other day. It was before First Date aired.

love,
bettie


Dear Zales, Diamond Exchange, Kay Jewelers, Sears, et cetera,

Please stop airing manipulative commercials. I understand that Valentine's Day is a lucrative holiday in the "Love Industry," but you are ruining my relationship. I am finding myself agonizing over the fact that my boyfriend hasn't proposed, and I blame you 100%. This is absolutely unacceptable, as the status of my relationship is none of your business. I resent the implication that a diamond is the only way for Will to declare his love for me, as I know, rationally, that it is absolutely untrue.

I'm an American. I will sue.

love,
bettie


Dear Christine,

You are a beautiful, amazing, brilliant woman and I am thrilled to know you.

love,
bettie

It's raining out. Perhaps I am just being a big baby, but I have to go to the bank and I don't wanna. Stupid rain.

In other news, last night's Buffy had me yelling at the TV. Seriously, I think I scared Will. The second the teaser was over I shouted, "THANK YOU!"

...About a minute later I asked Will if the opening credits had run. I was so busy being excited and grateful that I didn't notice.

I think this is my favorite episode of the season. Even better than Same Time Same Place. (I know there was at least one other that I really loved, but I'm drawing a blank. I think I'll go to the bank now.)

I've currently got two pressing questions to which I need answers:

1. Should I read The Return of the King, or wait until after I've seen the movie? I read the other two books after seeing the movies, and am glad I did, but I don't know if I can wait 10 months to find out what happens to poor Sam.

2. Should I stay up late so that I can sleep in tomorrow and don't have to wait too long before I get to see Will (I'm picking him up at the airport at noon) or should I go to bed early so that I don't get lonely?

I was thinking of putting up a poll, but I'm not as cool as Pat.

Being the kindest, most giving person that ever was, I agreed to accompany Cassie to see The Two Towers, which she hadn't seen before tonight.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! It's still wonderful. That is all.

Me so lonely.

I dragged myself out of bed at 6:30 this morning to take Will to the airport. (OK, so he dragged me out of bed and drove there, but I still had to get home.) I miss him! He's in the air right now, and will land in Portland in about an hour. Stupid granny, having a stupid birthday. [pout]

...OK, fine, I take it back! She's a swell dame, and you only turn 89 once.

I think I should write a comic book. [/nonsequitur]

That syphilitic whore Cherry stole Rachael Leigh Cook to play her in the WD movie. Now who the hell is going to play me?

Have decided that nothin' says "Love" like piles of presents for me. And also cheese. Possibly presents of cheese. (I am currently sick and avoiding dairy. It is torture.)

In other news, it is nearing my two year anniversary over at That Place. I don't know if I'll do anything for it. There have been quite a lot of anniversaries lately. Then again, I could always write that BOQ I've been planning forever and ever. And I think I might send out the G.A.P. newsletter on the day, because I can.

In other other news, but still board-related, I want to reply to Soupy's post about the Michael Jackson "special," but Will wouldn't let me watch it. Too traumatising, I suppose. We watched The Surreal Life instead, because watching MC Hammer berate Corey Feldman for taking too long on the crapper is far from traumatic. [rolleyes]

Oh! That reminds me (in a weird way) that I need to sit down and write my screenplay. Which one? Doesn't matter, but I think I'll work on Mona Lisa, because I already have the first and third acts worked out in my head, and the middle will either write itself or be put on hold. I'd work on Revenants, but I think I want to watch Dagon again first. I'm weird, I know - I in no way plan to base anything on Dagon, just feel like watching it. Horror is horror, right? (Hint: the correct answer is "No.")

Doesn't anyone have suggestions for Valentine's Day/our anniversary? Please?

I had the strangest stress dream last night.

For reference, I always have panicky dreams immediately after moving. The dreams are always about moving, essentially a reliving of the move with everything that could have gone wrong and/or all the stuff I forgot to pack, et cetera.

Last night I dreamed that we were moving the stuff out of Will's second apartment. ([eyebrow]) This sort of corrolates, I think, to the stuff that I still have in storage. As with the real move, I was packing stuff as Will and our friends were loading the truck. In this case, there was a made-up girl (not Jenn) who had a moving truck that we were using. She was a total bitch. I think my subconcious gave her absolutely every quality that I hate. She was mean and bossy and wouldn't listen to anything I said, even though it was my stuff. I'd be in the middle of packing a box and she would grab it and load it up. When I tried to explain that I'd been dealing with this move for two weeks and needed her to let me pack my own stuff before it was put on the truck, she interrupted me, told me that I just couldn't have things my way, and wouldn't let me finish my sentence. I eventually got so angry and frustrated that I slapped her. She left, taking away the truck.

Freud?

What was really strange is that this girl (she didn't have a name that I recall) was absolutely made up. She looked ever so slightly like Valerie, but not entirely. I love my subconcious for giving me an anonymous someone to take out my frustrations (and just possibly control issues) on.

Of course, it is entirely possible that the dream was the fault of the medicine I've been taking. It's just over-the-counter Tylenol Cold, but the sleepy stuff in their nighttime medicine is VERY affective. (Alas, the actual cold medicine is questionable.) I have no idea how I made it from the living room, where I was mostly passed out in front of the TV, to the bathroom, where I brushed and flossed (obviously I was drugged), to the bedroom. I vaguely remember Will kissing me goodnight, and then nothing until this morning when he gave me my stuffed animals before he left for work.

Incidentally, I adore him.

Being sick sucks. I mean, sure, I am lightheaded and easily amused, which is nice, but then I do things like go downstairs to refill my water and forget to bring my glass. Nevermind that I do stuff like that when I'm healthy. Just give me sympathy.

Hopefully haloscan will fix itself soon.

Sweet monkey! Valentine's Day is in a week, as is our 5 year anniversary, and I have no idea what to do for Will. Suggestions? Please? (It also might be a good idea to post suggestions for stuff that he can do for me.)

In other news, I found out Phoebe's middle name today. If and when I have a daughter*, you will all find out, because it is the only girls' name Will and I are in agreement on (though not, alas, because of Phoebe). Since I never met the person we would be naming her for, though, I can just hope that she'll turn out smart like Phoebe.

*please note that I am not pregnant, merely speculating.

Thank god it's (mostly) over.

My faith in humanity has been restored. After last week, I wasn't really sure I could trust anyone but Will. After this weekend, I know without a doubt that I have the best friends in the universe.

Last Monday we were approved for the apartment we wanted. I started packing immediately and on Tuesday we signed the lease and packed some more. Jenn took me out for lunch and helped out by bringing over boxes and packing with me. Wednesday we picked up the keys and moved over one carload of stuff, missing Angel in the process. I hear we didn't miss much. By Thursday I was in a bit of a state, as the old place was so tiny that I'd run out of room to pack and was only about a third of the way through our stuff. Friday Will took a half day and Jenn came over with her pickup truck. Geoff met us at the old place and Cassie came by shortly thereafter. While Cassie and I packed more, the three superheroes took stuff over to the new place. They got about 3 loads done before Jenn had to take off, leaving us with her truck (the angel). After one more load, we went out for middle eastern food and called it a night. Next day we started again, san Jenn but with the addition of Dave, a former intern from Will's company who is quite the little workhorse. I took care of the last of the packing while they did runs with the truck (and on occasion the cars as well), and by 7:00 I had the place spotless and we were ready to turn in the keys and go home. Home!

By far the most interesting part of the move was on Friday when we tried to get the couch into the new place. The short version is that it fell on me twice and is currently in our bedroom. The long version is that because of the way the entryway of our apartment is set up we cannot get the couch around the corner(s) into the living room. By the time it fell on me (the second time - the first time was my own fault because I thought I could carry it up the stairs and found out the hard way that I was wrong) we'd wedged it quite firmly (we thought) and discovered that we needed exactly a quarter of an inch leeway. I've unpacked the hacksaw and plan to take the couch apart entirely if necessary. You know, or buy a new one. But couches are really expensive.

Back to my original point - my friends, and in particular Jenn and Cassie, are amazing. They go above and beyond every day without even thinking about it. I have no idea what I've done to deserve them. (This is in no way a slight of Geoff, who put in an amazing amount of time and muscle this weekend. It's just that Geoff and Will are much closer than Geoff and I.)

This weekend Will is going to Oregon for his grandmother's 89th birthday, so I will be all alone for 2 or 3 days. What sucks is that I still have a lot of my stuff in storage. What is truly amazing is that Jenn, without a moment's hesitation, said, "Oh, we'll get it without him. See if Geoff can help again." (It should be noted that Geoff had already volunteered.)

Oh, and while I am listing the Wonders of Jenn, she is giving me her baker's rack. It's gorgeous, and I'm very excited. If I feel any better this afternoon, we'll move it in. Also today Sears is delivering our refrigerator. It's common in LA to rent a place that is not furnished with all appliances - namely, fridges. Thanks to our daddies, we were able to afford a very nice, albeit somewhat small, one. Yay! I can have milk again!

This is getting long and rambly. I have lots more to say, but I think I'll hold off. Missed you all.