Tomorrow morning I will pack my sweet baby computer into its boxes and move it to the new place. I may be offline for several days.

Here's something I wrote earlier. It makes me look so pathetic that you may not even miss me.

I should really know better.

I turned the television on this afternoon to provide background noise while I packed. Despite the DVDs that I left unpacked for this very purpose, I decided to flip through the local stations first. All that was on was news and Oprah. One of Oprah's guests was Maya Angelou, so I stupidly left the show on. Today's topic was the new display at the Museum of Tolerance ([eyebrow]) which features rooms of memories of Maya Angelou's, Billy Crystal's, Carlos Santana's, and the manager of the Yankees' family histories (I obviously cannot remember the latter's name, and honestly, he could be the manager of the Mets). Interesting stuff, and it reminded me that I've been meaning to try to find my family's geneology. My mum's side of the family should be easy, as an aunt has already done it, and all I'd need to trace is my grandpa's family. My dad's side of the family will be...interesting, considering that they don't even know if the family name is Barranti or Barrante, or whether we're Sicilian, Spanish, or Moorish. (The family is from Sicily, but who knows.)

Anyway. Back to Oprah. One of her guests was a writer, whose name I also forget (he is a poet and the screenwriter of Smoke Signals), who is a native American whose grandfather died when his father was six. In tracing his geneology, he discovered that his grandfather was a decorated soldier, but the medals had been lost. After he told his story, and explained that he was trying to have the medals replaced for his father, so that his father could make peace with his father, Oprah called out several United States military officers (I am ashamed to say that I don't know what branch. I suspect Army. I also don't know the officers' ranks), who presented him with replacements for his grandfather's awards. About a dozen medals and 2 plaques.

I was bawling like a baby. No. Babies don't cry like this. They have more dignity.

I've learned my lesson about daytime TV. Now that Days of Our Lives sucks, I shouldn't watch anything before 6:00 - possibly 8:00 - in the evening. (Of course I mean after 10:00 am - Regis and Kelly crack me up.)

Could I possibly have incuded more parenthetical statements in this entry? (I don't think so.) (And nevermind the confusing pronouns. Sorry.)

The rest of my day in review

I was very tired. I had a fight with Will. I had a killer headache, which is probably to blame for the fight. We brought some stuff over to the new apartment. I found a roach. I got really angry about the roach until it occured to me that I lived with roaches for the first 18 years of my life, and know how to kill them. I decided not to bother making this a list. I decided to sleep in tomorrow (which probably means that I will wake up at 7:00). I came online to PM Jenn and Cassie, and haven't gotten around to it yet. I had long conversations with myself in my head. I found out that Alan did indeed sell my monkey to someone else. My lighter ran out of fluid. We got our new phone number, which will change on Saturday. I think that's it. Man, I'm tired.

My day in review (mid-day)

• Refused to get out of bed. (Obviously changed my mind eventually.)
  
• Put gas in our car.
  
• Picked up keys to new apartment.
  
• Brought Will a Big Mac because I love him.
  
• Went to storage space where most of my stuff (read: books) has been since July, picked up computer boxes, gave notice for mid-February. (It seems silly to rush to get everything out of the apartment and the storage space.)
  
• Went to Koontz's, the best hardware store on earth, and purchased assorted cleaning supplies, bungee cords, et cetera.
  
• Thought of eight billion other items I should have gotten while there.
  
• Came home utterly exhausted despite it barely being mid-afternoon, decided to take an internet break.

Things I did today:

• Got a California driving license and registered (undeclared) to vote.
  
• Had lunch with Jenn (thanks, baby!).
  
• Packed some books and movies (also thanks to Jenn for boxes and [wo]man-power).
  
• Signed the lease for the new apartment.
  
• Gave the manager of this apartment notice of intent to vacate. (Actually, it's still in my bag. Must remedy.)
  
• Rejoiced.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

We got the apartment. Let the rejoicing commence.

note to self: Look into Yahoo instant messenger settings. It is highly unsettling to get IMs from people you do not know who want to know if you live in Hollywood.

I'm still looking into whether he/she/it is trying to pick me up, or just extremely bored.

...Perhaps neither. It's being quiet. (According to its Yahoo profile, it's a he. But "It" sounds better to me.)

I am furious. Pat knows why, and the person at whom I am angry should know why without being told. I'd email her, but my email is currently down.

I do not appreciate being lied to, misled, or deceived in any fashion. In this case, I don't even think the previous sentence was redundant.

I am not amused. Fuck off.

Transcribed from my notebook:

It's 7:00 in the morning. Sunday. I woke up just now and discovered that I was crying.

I don't usually cry myself awake.

Last night we went to Max's, which is our favorite bar. Alan had a new art show up, and we went to see it, and him, and have a drink or two.

As well as three or four giant squids (a specialty of Alan's), there was a new series of paintings: a robot and a monkey. Not since the Bluebird of Friendliness and Skelaton Lu has Alan painted something that moved me so. Hell, the Bluebird and Lu didn't affect me like this. One of the paintings is of a monkey, alone, sitting on a grassy hill looking away. At the top it says "Waiting." I became entirely smitten and stared across the room at the monkey until Kan, one of Will's co-workers, announced loudly that he was, "buying that one."

I was depressed an anti-social for the rest of the night, coming out of my protective shell only to pry Everwood spoilers out of Sean (who works for the show).

I should, I think, do one of two things. One, forget the painting (I can always ask Alan for a photograph of it), or two, come up with $200 and fight for that monkey. Alan and Will have a lot of history - Will should be able to steal my monkey from Kan, right?

But then I think that I'm a terrible person, and anyway Will wouldn't do it, and then thinking that makes me feel terrible, and it just keeps going like that.

But shouldn't I have the monkey that can make me cry?

Dear Jesse Dayton,

Why San Diego? Why? Los Angeles loves you. I love you. (Will says that I cannot offer you sex for playing a show here, but we can just keep it quiet, OK?)

***

I just sent the following to Kirk, who has never read the Lord of the Rings and is concerned about whether Christopher Lee will be in the third movie.

I've read Fellowship and the first half of Two Towers. (The first half of the book is the Aragorn/Legolas/Gimli/Galdalf/etc half, the second half is Frodo/Sam/Gollum.) I have just gotten to the part of the book that takes place after the movie ends, so I can assure you that there will be more Christopher Lee, if Peter Jackson doesn't want me to beat him up.

I still like the first movie more, but nothing will ever rival the Helm's Deep battle scene. Seriously, if anyone ever tops that, I will probably die. (Will, who has read all three books many times, assures me that the third movie will, indeed, top it. I'd better start taking my heart medicine NOW.)

I think I'm addicted to these crappy things. But I promise this will be the last one I post - and I dedicate it to Sassy.

Which Famous Homosexual Are You?

How spiffing! You're Alexander the Great!

Yeah, baby. You were the King of Macedonia, and conqueror of much of the world; you're responsible for the spread of Christianity, as well as Hellenistic society and even the Roman Empire. Your power was feared for thousands of miles around.

And how gay were you. When you'd conquered Persia, you fell in love with a male courtier from that court - scandalous in those days, because the Persians were believed to be uncivilised barbarians.

You were always really in love with your boyhood friend, Hephaestion, and when he died you were grief-stricken to a legendary degree: convinced that he would live on after death, you passed away soon afterwards.


Which Famous Homosexual are you?

Will's results:

Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

You are Optimus Prime!

Vast, red and ready to turn into a lorry at the slightest provocation, you are a robot to be reckoned with. Although sickeningly noble, you just can't resist a good interplanetary war, especially when Orson Welles is involved. You have friends who can shoot tapes from their chests. Tapes that turn into panthers. And other friends who are dinosaurs. Dinosaurs who jump out of planes. Will you have my children?


Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

Holy Prime Directive, you're Robocop!

Well, you're neither colossal, nor technically a robot, but your arthritic lurching and dubious morals have found their way into the hearts of futuristic rebels and children everywhere. You walk through fire, catch bullets from the air, and you never, ever smile. Combine this with an abstract, almost random concept of duty and honour, and you have a police officer one cannot fail to adore.

Thank you, Robocop.


Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

I have the best family in the world.

Things are not doing very well in regard to my finances. I'm not working, and Will, though making a fairly good salary, doesn't really bring home enough money to comfortably pay for two. The bills are, not to put too fine a point on it, piling up.

My father told me today that his wife Debbie, who he met when I was 17 and married three years later, was paying bills yesterday and turned to him and asked, "What does Annika need?" She apparently has remarkable hearing, because she was practicing her clarinet when he and I were discussing money stuff the other day. She went on to tell him that I am the closest she will ever have to a daughter. I, of course, started to cry when he repeated this to me.

After I got off the line with my father, my mum called. (They've been divorced for almost 16 years, but still have a weird telepathy when it comes to talking to me.) I'd asked her for some help paying my student loans (I cannot justify Will paying them), and she asked me to get the exact amounts so that she can just pay them off.

It took a while for me to comprehend that. Pay them off? Like, one payment, all gone? Inconceivable!

Not only that, but they've both offered to help with the deposit for a new apartment (whenever I find one), as well as my absurd balance on my old cell phone. (Note to my stalkers: Sprint PCS - not good.)

Some of my guilt is alleviated when I remember that my younger sister is currently studying abroad in Paris. But then I become extremely tense because her living conditions there are terrible. Her professor is apparently a complete space cadet, and poor K didn't even know for certain until she arrived in France whether she had a place to stay. Well, she does, but I think she might be better off without. For two people, there is a flat with a crawl-space loft (for one) and a couch (for one), nowhere to hang clothing, and no phone. Now, the phone might not be a big deal if it weren't for the fact that we're talking about two young girls in a strange city in a foreign country. Not to mention that the school promised they would be staying with actual French people, not on their own. (If K is anything like me, she won't mind that aspect. Alone time is of the good, and easier with only one flatmate.)

The good news is that K had her first encounter with a rude French waiter on her first day there. (She may not consider it good news, and was in fact very distraught, but I am amused.)

So, are there any millionaires and/or Parisians out there who want to help my sister or I out a bit? We're both very pretty.

I have purple post-its. They make me think of Stephanie and Amy.

Which reminds me, the purple color schemes are a bit much. Seriously, is purple suddenly everyone's favorite color?

We didn't get the apartment, but the little Korean lady didn't speak enough English to explain why to me satisfactorily. I have an appointment to look at another one tomorrow. It's a little bit more expensive, but is one bedroom plus a loft, and the building has a pool. Yikes. Maybe I will finally learn how to swim if we live there.

I think Will is more depressed about all of this than I am. Any suggestions for cheering him up?

I'm so irritated! I made a dreadfully amusing entry a little while ago, and it didn't go through.

I won't try to recreate the humor, just the basic idea: Cross your fingers for me. I put in an application for a new apartment, and I want the place a lot. Here's hoping for an OK credit check!

Today I called all of the apartments on my list.

I'm pretty sure it was a fruitless effort, but I'll probably try to look at some of them tomorrow anyway.

I ask you, though - is it anyway to run a business? "You call me before you come, I show you apartment." Can't I make an appointment? Damn it.

I got to play Chandler today. She has some unfortunate internet access issues and asked me to send out the G.A.P. newsletter. I think it went off quite well, and geswho (copy editor) was even kind enough to point out the dreadful spelling errors in my column. Not that I'd ever misspell palantir. I meant typos.

In other news, I hate geocities. Uploading stuff to my site is far more work than it should be, and PageBuilder is too retarded for a 4-year old, nevermind me. I need to get some money, get some proper webspace, and learn enough html to make the site look OK. Any volunteers for monetary contributions?

Will and I were talking the other day about the game some people play where you list the famous people, living or dead, that you would like to have dinner with. My version of the game involves a babelfish, because the first person on my list probably didn't speak English.

My list - let's assume that ten guests are allowed.

• Peter Ilyich Tchaikovski
  
• Shirley Jackson
  
• Stanley Hyman
  
• Alan Moore
  
• Neil Gaiman
  
• Wes Anderson
  
• Cary Grant
  
• James M. Caine
  
• Kendall Hailey
  
• Peter Jackson

And that is just off the top of my head. Needless to say, this list is certain to change depending on my mood and current subjects of interest [read: obsessions].

You'll note that I left Sean Bean off my list. You see, I am not as single-minded as one might think.

Also: for Kirk - (Mediocre) Shirley Jackson page with good links.

If I find one more Shirley Jackson site that mentions The House on Haunted Hill, I shall scream.

Shirley Jackson wrote The Haunting of Hill House. Get it right or fear my wrath.

So, I'm watching the Golden Globes. I've never seen them before, and I'm impressed by how much more enjoyable than the Oscars they are. Maybe it's the combination of TV and movies, maybe it's the more casual environment (tables, people eating and chatting, etc.), maybe it's just that I'm a sap of an old woman...I don't know. Two speeches (so far) and one commercial have had me in tears. Please form your own conclusions.

I am terribly pleased by the fact that Old Hollywood seems to be returning. I have seen some of the loveliest hairstyles tonight. In particular I liked the woman who represented the Hollywood Foreign Press (the one who laughed at Brendan Fraser behind her hand after his flubbed delivery of her introduction). Dagmar Somethingorother. Stunningly beautiful, with very old fashioned style.

Oh! The clip from The Two Towers also made me tear up a bit.

In other news - a question: Am I totally insane for wanting to adapt Shirley Jackson's Life Among the Savages and Raising Demons as a mini-series?

Kirk on Fellowship of the Ring: I'm hoping Christopher Lee wins. I may be disappointed on that score.

Yes, I am taking it somewhat out of context, but it made me laugh a LOT. Kirk, you're swell.

If he gives me permission, I may put the rest of his review up on my site. My site, which I have finally begun updates on again. Go me!

Grrrr. It seems that when editing my template I fucked things up royally. Who knew that blogger would magically remove all of the necessary information for the required Blogger link button, and in fact all of the other linkies? Not me!

I'll fix it in the morning.

edit Nevermind. I fixed it now.

Bad Taste

I would greatly appreciate it if someone would volunteer to keep track of the myriad times that I make the following statement.

This is the best movie, ever.

If he didn't already have fat, geeky babies, I would totally have Peter Jackson's.

My favorite line: "Jeez, I hope we're not too late to save the world."
Will's favorite line: "I'm a Derek. Dereks don't run."

A review will be forthcoming in an all-new installment of Grumpy Critic, Angry Cook.

Things I meant to do today:

Balance the checkbook.


Things I did today:

Made pesto.


My day overall:

While I wouldn't say I broke even, I still have five hours and 46 minutes in which to balance that pesky checkbook, so all hope is not lost.

You can't ask a homeless guy for change.

Will and I went to Barney's for dinner. We had, of all the strangest things, a gift certificate. Yes, for Barney's. Let's keep the story rolling. After dinner, we walked, with our carry-out styrofoam cartons, to Gelson's supermarket to buy milk. (If I cannot have milk with my coffee, I am very cranky, and the milk we had at home was starting to threaten sourness.) As we walked down the street, a man coming toward us said, "Hey, can I ask you guys a question?" Will said sure, and the guy almost won me over, because he said, "You have to stop walking first." Almost won me over. He proceded to explain that he is an out-of-work drummer, and used to play with David Bowie. He is now, he tells us, divorced, and has sold his house in Sherman Oaks. He's been walking up and down Santa Monica Boulevard, singing the chorus of Papa Was A Rolling Stone for a buck or two. He'd like to sing for us, and if we like it, we'll pay him, and if we don't, he'll give us the full two dollars.

I knew that we had a twenty dollar bill.

"Do you have a dollar or two, sweetie," I asked Will pointedly (I hoped). He said he didn't, and the guy tried to haggle us down to fifty cents, then a quarter. I offered to look for change in my purse, and Will offered his leftover food. "No," the man shouted at Will, "I want to find a cheap motel room."

That's where he lost me. I do not trust homeless people who will not accept food. And frankly, it is currently 70° fahrenheit. A night outdoors will not kill anyone - certainly not in this neighborhood, anyway.

I gave him the fifteen cents I was able to dig from my purse, and we walked on, but not before I saw that the man was crying. I am somewhat distraught.

Somewhat less so because as we were walking home it occured to me that the tear I saw could have been a sign of a sad, pathetic man, or could have been the sign of a man ready to snap at any second, and there are alleys and doorways he could have been in. But I knew (and confirmed when we arrived home) that Will was prepared to slug him, and I knew that I could wield that gallon of milk with deadly accuracy if I had to.

We're fighters.

It isn't Tchaikovski, but...

[super geeky story]

I've been listening to the Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack a lot lately. I would say "constantly," but that wouldn't be true, since sometimes I don't listen to anything at all.

I can't think of any piece of music that affects me as much as the Fellowship theme. The mazurka from Delibes' Coppelia comes close. Several Tchaikovski pieces do as well, hence the [post] title.

I visualize the scenes from the movie when listening to the soundtrack - not for every moment, but for several of them. I freaked Will out yesterday by saying, "Great. Where are we going?" along to the appropriate part of the music. Obviously, I need help.

What really worries me is some of the reactions I have. The best example is during the Bridge of Khazad Dum, about halfway through the piece when the fellowship theme plays for the second time. Actually, just before it. Every damn time, I worry that this time, Boromir and Legolas won't catch Frodo and Aragorn. This is clearly absurd - I don't even worry about it when watching the movie, and didn't (much) the first time I saw it.

[/SuperGeek]

I was going to make this a WD post, with BOQ, but then I realized that it is too lame and pathetic, even for the WD. Plus, I couldn't think of any questions, let alone a bunch of them.

Go on. Make fun of me. Just remember that I can edit your comments to my heart's content.

I love my mother. She sent me money, offered to pay for courses if I go back to school, and bought me the coolest measuring cups and spoons ever.

In addition, my sister sent me a video tape, program and poster from her last dance concert (which I was unable to attend) and 2 pairs of boots. Now I can get rid of the 2 similar pairs of boots that I've never broken in because they are too tight. Anyone wear a ladies' 7? They're free.

Finally, a note to my neighbors: There are 40 units in this building, and only 4 washing machines. Don't you think, perhaps, that leaving your laundry in them while you're at work is a bit rude?

Will isn't going to be home until about 8:30 tonight. This makes me sad. But really - that's not much more than an hour later than he is usually home. I don't know why it bothers me so much.

The good news is that he came home for lunch. That was really nice.

In Buffyguide news, I think I must be losing my touch as a PMer. I almost never get the flashing envelope of joy anymore.

...and as I was about to post this, I got a PM. Whoops.

I was going to post a rant about how much I hate my sister, but then I realized that I don't hate her until Thursday at about 8:00 pm GMT. So nevermind.

Today I told my friend John that I think I have Social Anxiety Disorder. As it happens, I don't even believe in social anxiety disorder, but I can come up with no other explanation for my recent decline in ability to socialize. John is manic-depressive, and anti-social in much the same way I've become, so he is a good person to talk to about these things, especially because he will tease me so mercilessly that I cannot help but feel better and then change the subject to Cary Grant. Unfortunately, we must eventually get off the phone, and I then go back to feeling small. Will can often tell when I am feeling small, because even my voice gets very small. Of course, sometimes my voice gets small when I am just feeling cute, but that is neither here nor there.

Presumably due to my unemployment and lack of a vehicle, I almost never leave the apartment during the day Monday through Friday. Now, I live in a nice neighborhood and the weather here is positively lovely, so I could very easily go out and just walk on a regular basis, but for some reason I don't. Occasionally Jenn and I will do something on a weekday, but other than that I really am a total shut-in when left on my own. On the weekends, Will and I rarely go anywhere, preferring the comfort of the living room, the DVD player, the computer, and our pajamas, not to mention each other.

When I find myself in social situations, I tend to be fairly shy unless I am with people I know well and feel comfortable with. This is not new. I think I was quite outgoing at one point in my life, but that stopped around the time I started to get my grown-up teeth. I can deal with my own shyness, and am quite used to it.

It's changed. I totally clam up when attempting to carry on a normal conversation with people I am fairly well acquainted with. I have trouble communicating with even good friends except over the telephone or on the internet. It seems as though the only person I am myself with (in person) these days is Will, and while I would choose him if I had to choose one person, I'd rather be able to talk to the rest of my friends too. Hell, I am finding it difficult to even say "please" and "thank you," which as far as I'm concerned are not optional.

I am also not accomplishing anything lately, whether it be laundry or writing or anything in-between. I am watching the same scenes of the same movies over and over, and though they are very comforting, I'm sure that I would benefit from variety in my routine. I'm spending too much time on the internet without really enjoying much of it. I am letting the dust on my bookshelves accumulate and the dirt on the floor become one with the carpeting. Don't get me wrong - it isn't disgustingly dirty or anything, but I know I could do much better and feel that I am failing Will, who works so hard to provide for me.

I don't like feeling as though there is something wrong with me. I am often somewhat depressed in wintertime, but this isn't depression. It's like I am stunted, incapable of moving forward. I'm actually quite happy on the whole, just - immobile and small.

It's my boyfriend's birthday today. He's old. So old. And also, he's doing the dishes. Man, I am the worst girlfriend ever. To my credit, the dishes he's washing are from the phenomenal breakfast I made him...Yeah, that doesn't make it any better, does it?

What's YOUR Writing Style?
brought to you by Quizilla


I actually hate these quizzes, because they are a total waste of time, the answers never fit, and the results are stupid. Unfortunately, I cannot seem to stop myself from taking the damn things whenever someone links to them. Thanks a lot, P@.

You know, it's strange - I am generally not the least bit amused by "Hollywood funny" - my sense of humor is too sophisticated, or something.

However.

We watched Austin Powers in Goldmember tonight. I laughed almost non-stop for however long the movie is. It was...words fail me.

I am terribly ashamed, and plan to watch some godawful art films to atone.

John just paid me the greatest compliment ever on record.

He called me a Dame, and said that I am the closest he's ever met to a woman from the 40s or 50s. Considering our mutual love of film noir, this is high praise indeed.

Heehee. Judging by the movie casting, Denethor was only 11 when Boromir was born. Actually, a few days from his 11th birthday.

...What do you mean, the actor isn't the character?

Dear Everyone,

A word of advice: if I have just woken up, and you tell me something important, and it isn't good-important, and my reaction is less-than-good (or possibly even nasty), perhaps you should have waited until I'd had a cup of coffee.

I can be a very selfish person at times, but first thing in the morning my behavior has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with my inability to focus and comprehend.

I'm not a bad person, I hope. I certainly am not nasty to my loved ones on purpose.

This morning I woke up in a fantastic mood. I then proceded to throw a fit because my boyfriend wouldn't wear a sweater and I thought he would look sexy in it.

I had an entry I was going to make today, but I've decided to give it to Chandler instead.

Entry solicited by Jennifer, the useless cunt.

I like coffee. I am drinking some.

I dislike indigestion. I am recovering from some.

Yum, candy.

Worst Entry Ever.

This week on 7th Heaven: Everyone learns a valuable lesson. (and I figured that out from the final 10 minutes!)

This week on Everwood: Doctor Brown has a flashback to Hair. (if TVWoP doesn't catch that, I will be terribly disappointed.) Dr. Abbott makes me squeal with delight, like always.

Whenever I think about the time I worked at USA Today, I instantly feel paralizing terror. My heart beats faster and my chest constricts. I relive the tense moments, the times that my superiors were particularly bullish and I didn't know how to stand up for myself.

It's been almost a year since I gave my notice and left the corporate world of Advertising Sales forever.

My trains of thought are abstract at best. I was thinking about tattoos, which made me think of my mom's former co-worker Rachel, whose wedding I went to. She and her husband got tattoos on their fingers under their wedding bands. Then I was thinking about the last time I saw them, at a company picnic, which they brought their baby girl to. Also at the picnic was my mother's friend Holly, whose husband and son's names I can't remember. Both names, like the men, were Algerian - when Holly met her husband, broken French was the only language they had in common. Holly was one of those women who carries several extra pounds stunningly well. That made me think of my other friend Holly, who I think would be less pretty if she were to lose weight. Trying to remember Holly's last name, I used the trick of association - she has the same last name as one of the guys who worked down the hall from me at Gannett (the company that owns USA Today) - and thinking of that Steve made me think of Steve-my-boss, who was all right but a bit of a terror to try to keep happy, as his expectations would change with his mood. All this happened while I was lying in bed two nights ago, and the terror struck. I had a great deal of difficulty sleeping.

I have no idea what I'm going to do about all of this, but I suppose that one of my "goals" will be to just let go of it.

If I may change the subject a minute: I'm not very happy about a great deal of what this country does with its military. But I would like to say right now that I love the soldiers, marines, sailors, pilots, officers, and every other individual who is protecting me. Except possibly the National Guard, but I just may be biased there. On a similar note, I love the police. I was thinking about running over to the Sheriff's Department to tell them as much, but have decided to do that only if I wish to find out what their interrogation room looks like, or at least what sort of drug tests they administer. Maybe next week, if I'm bored.

My Captain.

I must find a way to work this phrase into something I write. If I succeed, it will be the most Important thing I have ever written.

There is no phrase that I can think of that affects me at a more base emotional level.

Oh Captain, my Captain.

I would have followed you - my brother, my Captain, my King.

Excuse me, I have to go have a good cry.

Dear Weirdos,

Midnighter and Apollo can do anything they please together. Please stop posting poorly-drawn comic-strip renderings of said activities.

Or, if you cannot help yourselves, at least remember that they would most likely remove their girly Superhero tights.

Thanks!

I haven't the foggiest idea why I am making an entry today. I can't think of a damn thing to say.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, the Ents unleashed the river, flooding Isengard, where Saruman had stupidly built his fortress. I mean really - who builds a fortress right below a dam and doesn't expect something like this?

...Why yes, I did see The Two Towers again today, why do you ask?

Well, I successfully avoided 01/02/03 and the Buffyguide down-time by not being online. I am so very clever.

In other news, Christine has updated her diary, which means that she has not vanished into the ether, as I'd feared. This is a Good Thing.

In other other news, I am Jenny Sparks.

Well, I'm glad that's all sorted out.

So, it's 2003. In just under two hours it will be (by the American method of writing things out) 01/02/03, which I find to be impossibly cool. I am hoping that P@ will do something neat on the board to celebrate, as I have no ideas whatsoever. Then again, he hasn't been on the board since last year. [cue polite laughter]

Will (who is currently passed out on the couch in a food coma, and looks really adorable) and I have been working on some truly amazing stuff for Deadlands lately. I think we may have combined more universes than anyone has ever previously attempted, and I kind of (only kind of) wish we had a bigger gaming posse to impress with it. Jenn, you'll just have to be REALLY impressed, OK?

Earlier, I spent a bit of time typing out a response to a bOq that Stephanie posted. The topic was school, and I think I held back a lot. Not in a bad way, just in a not scaring the peons way. Go me!

In other news, I have decided to hate A&E all over again for cancelling Nero Wolfe. Asswipes.

Oh! I've decided that instead of making New Years Resolutions™ I will make a list of life goals. One that I can add to at any time, but will, if things go accordingly, definitely add to every New Years. Not to mention that I will have the option to cross things off as I accomplish them. I am even going to try to be realistic.

And finally, monkey!