Excellent news!

I have decided to marry Will and Darren. We are still hashing out the details, as I am actually anti-polygamy. Wait, that's not entirely fair. I am fiercely pro-monogamy. I don't have a decisive stance on polygamy.

This is turning into a serious post! That's no good.

My boys are downstairs, drunk. Or at least, they are drinking. And talking. And talking, and talking... I've totally lost track of what they're talking about - it went from From Hell and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen to Mary Shelley to Mark Twain to Jenny Sparks and Deadlands faster than I could keep up. And that is in the last three minutes.

Heeeeee. I am in heaven.

I got up at 5:30 in the morning.

I thought it was worth a post all its own.

Oopsie.

I've lived in this neighborhood for over a year. I know where the grocery store(s), post office and library are. But I have just realized that I have NO idea where the nearest police or fire station is, and I don't know which hospital is the closest. (Oh, let's be honest, I only know where one hospital is in the whole city, and only because it's next to my doctor's office.)

I guess I'd better not have any emergencies.

That was...weird.

I went downstairs to put my laundry in the dryer. There was a boy there, putting his into the washer. Ten years ago I would have thought he was soooo cute, but now I definitely don't. Tall, a little too skinny - should possibly be modeling Calvin Klein jeans. You know the type.

He seemed to be attempting to strike up a conversation. Either he finds girls in laundry day clothes with unwashed faces attractive or he really needed the spare quarter I gave him. Heck, he might have just been lonely. He asked if I'd just moved in, and I told him I'd been here for over a year. So then he asked me if I'm a hermit, because he hasn't "Seen me around." Er...how does one respond to such a question? And why the hell would I hang out in the building but not in my apartment? And why do I give a crap that he sold his car to some guy who didn't even test drive it?

I feel so mean, except I'm not, because he was so very obviously trying (poorly) to flirt. Am I wrong to think he's a total tool?

As a reminder, here is a picture of my left hand:

I suppose I should have gone for something less subtle, eh? (Please see the image to the right for reference.) I don't like it, but it's more obvious.

Now, seriously: Is it not obvious that I am wearing an engagement ring? Even if this guy wasn't flirting at all, I've gotten that flirtatious vibe from a couple of people over the last six months. Don't they get it?

I am a wreck of nerves.

When I met Will, he was still actively involved in theater. He had one of the leads in a production of Mad Forest, which is a weird fucking play. I've done some theater, but stopped being serious about it around age 12. I'd done one play in school, the semester before I met Will, and actually had a lead (which isn't saying much as it was a three person one-act with a single performance), but it just wasn't a big deal.

On the opening night of Mad Forest, I had stage fright. Really bad stage fright. I must have known at that point that I was head-over-heels in love with Will. In fact, I know I knew. But if I hadn't, I think having stage fright on his behalf would have done the trick.

Right now he's recording voice-over for the Lost Boys Special Edition DVD (for a segment on Vampires of the World). I dropped him off at a recording studio across the way from the Warner Brothers lot. By the way, should you ever have reason to be in this building, make sure you know the gate code. You need it to get out as well. Motherfuckers.

I think I need a stiff drink. Unfortunately, I can't, because I have appointments this afternoon for wedding-related stuff, and while I have no problem showing up half in the bag, I'd have no way to get myself there. My DUI days* are long past.

Speaking of wedding crap, I should have a very amusing entry for you in the coming days.


*Oh, chill out. I only drove drunk once, and I had NO idea how drunk I was until an hour or so later.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pardon my exuberance. I just booked tickets for our best friend on earth to visit us next week.

GAME!

Will and I spent all day yesterday playing. We had plans with Rich that fell through. I must say, as sad as we both were to not see Rich, it was something of a relief, as we'd been social all weekend.

We started out the day with Charades. It got off to a bumpy start as we were trying to remember some of the important gestures and whatnot. Will is really good at it, and I am OK. I really stumped him on a few, though. I would love to try playing with a larger group of people, but some of the shorthand clues that we devised would be totally inappropriate. (Let's just say that we came up with a sort of shorthand for "man" that will not be used in front of ANYONE.)

Later in the day we went grocery shopping and then picked up Chinese take-away. The drive home was torture, because we were so hungry and the food smelled so good. We needed a distraction, but Charades was out as Will was busy driving, so we tried this word game that Will overheard some guys playing when we saw Hellboy. We don't know if it has a name, and are calling it "Predator vs. Nell" until we come up with something better. You describe a movie that is actually a hybrid of two movies, and the other person guesses the combined titles. My crowing achievement came with the clue "Keanu Reeves stars as an Enlightened man who has wacky adventures in China with talking animals." The correct answer is, of course, "Doctor Doolittle Buddha." That game was harder for me as nearly every time I came up with a great movie title it turned out that I knew absolutely nothing about one of the two movies (except obviously its name). My other favorite was "Jack Black co-stars in this World War II epic as a man who has to save his best friend, whose brothers have all been killed, from marrying a woman everyone hates." That one is a little trickier as the titles don't run together in the same way. See if you can guess.

Comic book movies.

I have a lot to say about them. I won't be saying it at the moment, but please read this as a starter.

Please pay special attention to Matty's comment, excerpted here:

My big problem with comic book movies is that there is no excuse for them to be bad. The source material is already storyboarded out right there for you in great detail. JUST MAKE THAT. We like that! That's why you're making the cocksucker in the first place!

I was leaning over the sink.

I'd taken off my shirt and was washing my face. We went out tonight and I decided, in a rather out of character move, to wear makeup. When I wear makeup, I break out, so I try to wash it off as quickly as possible, and tend to do so in an apologetic way. I splash warm water on my face, then soap it up, then rinse. Then I soap up again and scrub with a washcloth. Then, if I wore mascara, I use eye makeup remover, then rinse off with the washcloth. Then I pat dry and apply moisturizer.

So I was standing there, in my jeans and bra. My fat little belly was hanging over the waistband of my jeans. I'm pretty skinny, but there is nothing even resembling muscle tone anywhere on my body.

Will was sitting on the toilet. Not using it as anything but a seat, just sitting there, watching me.

I asked him why.

He admired the way my breasts looked - larger than usual, but held in by my bra. He commented on my belly. He wondered if he would find it attractive if we had just met and this was the first time I'd had my shirt off in his presence. Before I could figure out what I thought about that, he decided that now, it is sexy. Because I am his wife (I argued that one). Because I am going to be the mother of his children (I glowed and blushed). Just because.

It's pointless, it's private. I just didn't want to forget.

Everybody has cake but me.

Thank god.

If I consume any more sugar, ever, somebody shoot me. I had a tummy-ache last night and have a rousing headache today, and I blame my willy-nilly consumption of jelly beans, chocolate chips and maple syrup (not all at once) entirely.

I tried to take a nap but my back is sore as well and I couldn't get comfy.

I know a bath would fix it but I tend to get light-headed from the heat if I am already feeling poorly, so I can't do that until Will gets home. Alas, when Will gets home we are going to a friend's house. No bath for me.

And of course I am sitting here feeling sorry for myself when poor Marsh is having a ten billion times worse day. Everyone throw cake at her. Er, or something like that.

One more thing.

[MAJOR casting spoilers for the end of Angel, don't know which episides, shown on last night's preview. NOT next week.]
So. Darla and Drusilla. I hope that the WB is being misleading as usual, because if I have to suffer through endless flashbacks of what Angelus and Spike/William used to be, I will puke. It got really, really old after Fool For Love/Darla, with rare exception. If these girls come back, I want them in the present time. OK, not Darla, but Dru is still with us, right? And they've totally erased all the progress that was made in season 2 anyway, so why not bring Darla back, again, and do away with the good parts of season 3 as well. By the end there, I really liked her.
[/spoiler]

ARRRGGGHHHHHH.

This week on Angel: I don't give a crap.

Honestly, American Idol was more entertaining, and I hate that show. Well, I particularly hate Ryan Seacrest. I mean, "Seacrest?" What the fuck kind of name is that? Anyway, we watched it tonight because Jenn left a message that "The Chin" was guest judging, and I had to make sure she meant QT, on the off chance that maybe she meant Bruuuuuce, which she didn't, but by then the TV was already on, and could I make this sentence go on for any longer?

Blah blah blah.

Domestic Goddess? Not quite. But I think I'll keep me anyway.

I haven't actually done the math, but I believe I was on the telephone for over five hours today. My ears hurt! Most of it was a single conversation, with Stacey. I would write about that, but she and I joked that I would, so I'm fresh out of material. It would feel unoriginal, I think. I also talked to Will, which is not an unusual occurrence, but his reason for calling me was. I also talked to Jenn.

Needless to say, though all of these chats were lovely, I am never answering the telephone again.

While Stacey and I talked (and talked and talked), I cleaned the bathroom. I also put a pork loin in to roast (and roast and roast). If all goes according to plan, will be pulled pork when it's finished. If you don't know what that is, you have presumably never been to the south. That's OK. I haven't really either. Anyway, it's been in the oven for nearly three hours now, and the place smells delightful.

I might vacuum in a little while, and clean the kitchen floor and wash the dishes. Then again, I might not. I'm feeling pretty accomplished already.

Scars.

I'm covered in scars. Most of them aren't even visible unless the lighting is just right and I am pointing right at it saying, "There! Don't you see it?"

The most visible marks are from chicken pox, when I was nine. There's one next to my eyebrow, one on my tit, one on my belly, and probably a bunch more. I'm fairly certain there's one in my, ah, groin area, but I'd have to shave completely to find it, and I have no interest in having a naked hoo-ha.

I have two razor scars: one on my ankle from the second time I ever shaved my legs and one on my finger tip from a bad experience changing a blade, both at around age 12.

There should be a scar on my palm from the time that I hung my jacket on the top row of wrought iron hooks and my hand slid down onto the hook below it, but I can't identify it. My palms are covered with lines and I don't know what's natural and what's a scar. (It also happened when I was about 11, so it might just be gone.)

I have a scar on my knee from falling down while running and sliding several feet. To my credit, I kept running (I fell, slid and got up all in one motion - it was pretty cool), leapt over a bench, and tackled the boy I was chasing. I didn't even know I was injured until it was pointed out that my pants were ripped. It did that weird thing where it didn't start bleeding right away even though several layers of skin were lost to the pavement, and when it did start it was tiny pin-pricks of blood. I was about 15.

My arms are covered in marks. I suppose if you didn't know me and were unfamiliar with how different types of injuries heal/scar, you might think I was a self-injurer. I'm not, at least by conventional definition. The scars are all burns. Accidental burns. Some are from splattered cooking oil, but most of them are from ovens. I have a matching set on my right arm from oven racks biting me while I was checking food. They happened at totally separate times, and one of them is quite fresh, but they're nearly the exact same size and shape. There were a few occasions where I knicked myself with knives, but generally that doesn't happen. It's only heat that is my enemy in the kitchen. Most of those scars are from injuries as an adult.

I also have two belly-button scars. The first is my actual belly-button, so it doesn't count. The second is from the piercing I had there for seven years before I got sick of it getting infected constantly because those piercings never truly heal.

I think I'm going to go take a bath now and see if I can find any more scars.

I figured it out!

"It" being the entire purpose of this entire season of Alias.

I'll tag it because I promised, but there aren't really any plot-related details. The most you could be spoiled for is the name of an actor who may or may not have been on this season.

[spoilers, kinda.]
I don't think the show is aimed at its audience. Oh, sure, lots of the love angst probably is, but the main story arc? It's a message. Roughly translated, it says, "Lena Olin! Please come back! We love you and we're just going to get weirder and weirder about this stuff until you do a guest spot!"
[/spoiler]

You know I'm right. After all, there is really no other excuse.

An important message about presents.

I swore to myself that I wouldn't start being a brat about my birthday until Memorial Day (which is, for you non-Americans, usually the last weekend in May). I'm not sure that I'm going to make it.

In totally unrelated news, I was thrilled when Amazon added a ranking feature to wish lists. As soon as I noticed I went through my list and ranked everything. Then I began looking through other people's lists and getting annoyed that they hadn't ranked stuff. I am not a very patient person. (I mention patience since the annoyance came abut five minutes after I'd ranked my list, which occurred immediately after discovering the option to do so.)

Have a look at my wish list. See the pull-down menus at the top? Sort it by Priority (high to low). Isn't that better?

No subtle hints about buying me gifts in anticipation of my birthday (July 6) intended.

This is what we did this day:

After a lovely Friday evening of Thai food and watching Deadwood with Jenn, I slept solidly and woke up motivated to, you know, do stuff. So we re-hung our Ring posters, which we've been meaning to do for a couple of weeks. I should clarify that by Ring I mean not The Lord of the Rings nor yet Ringu/The Ring, but Wagner's Der Ring Des Nibelungen. It's a four poster set, and arranged together the pattern on the posters forms a ring. It's very classy. After that we had breakfast and I read a book while Will played around with GTA Vice City, which he's already beat.

I got restless. You know that feeling when you're dissatisfied but it has nothing to do with the person you're with or the things you're doing or even life in general? It's an uncomfortable feeling, because you don't know what's causing it, only that you need to do something, and right away. I moped for a few minutes, but that didn't help, so I asked Will if we could go somewhere. He suggested just driving around, but that sounded like more of the same. He jokingly (I think - maybe not) suggested we go browse at a toystore, and I said OK. There's a Best Buy next to the Toys R Us in Glendale, and I thought we could look at televisions to see how much money we have to put together to get something bigger than the teensy thing we've been getting by with. It's 19", which was great when Will bought it for his old studio apartment, but our widescreen movies don't look so great on it. I'm hoping to upgrade to 32" but would gladly settle for 27". Anyway, we looked around and figured that we'd need around $300, and then we went to see what PS2 games were marked down. I found the Simpsons game most appealing, but since I hate the controller for the PlayStation I didn't push the issue. While Will thought it over we browsed the DVDs. I was shocked and delighted to find Ghost Dog: the Way of the Samurai for $6.99, and we decided that at that price we couldn't leave without it. We also picked up the Cypress Hill album with "(rock) Superstar" on it, and the Mummy box set for me. Yes, the Stephen Sommers movies. Yes, I love them. Shove it. Will settled on a game called Tenchu: Wrath of Heaven, which sounds ridiculous but I guess is about Samurai.

We drove over to Rian's neighborhood and went to Ernie's, which is this great cheap Mexican place we love. She was asleep, the silly bitch, so we ate without her. Oh, and when I say the place is cheap, I am not taking into account the price of several drinks. Tequila expensive! Oh well. As I was driving back toward the 101 to go home, some boy leaned out of a stretch limo and said, "I can smell that" to me, which was absurd since I was smoking a cigarette. Then I realized that he must have been making assumptions based on my choice of music. I am a bad ass.

When we got home we watched The Magnificent Seven, which I managed to go nearly 26 years without ever seeing. Silly me! It was, er, magnificent.

Conversations.

This is how my conversation with John, who is going away for the weekend, ended yesterday:

John: Happy Easter even though you don't believe in God and therefore the Resurrection.
Me: Yeah, but I believe in candy, so I'm all set!
John: ...

This is the conversation I just had with myself:

Me: I'm hungry.
Me: Bitch! Make me a sandwich.

I had grilled cheese.

Sound medical advice.

So I'm half naked in the examination room, waiting for my doctor to come in and prod my girl parts, and I'm reading Redbook, the magazine most convenient to where I am sitting. Yikes - now I know everything about Nick and Jessica. Anyway, there was an article that told me that I probably shouldn't try to bring my child's fever down, because - get this - the fever is the body's way of fighting illness. Gee! Really? I've only known that since I was FIVE! I am appalled that people don't know that. It's so sad to me that important information like that is (apparently) not common knowledge.

Then on the drive home (I am skipping the part where I had to get $20 out of the bank and pay a $2 ATM surcharge just for the $1 parking fee because I am so mad about it) I was listening to the radio and heard a commercial for something called Chaser. It is a pill that you take when you drink that claims to absorb the toxins in alcohol that cause you to have a hangover. Oops, my mistake! I thought hangovers were from dehydration! I guess I can skip having a glass of water for every drink, because I am obviously drinking the magic toxin-free alcohol.

In other news, Will has a half day tomorrow, which makes it a good Friday (groan). It's just what the doctor ordered (double groan)!

House buying update.

Ha ha. We are still not buying a house, because we are still poor because I am still not working. Technically, I still work for the kitchen, but I think they know that I don't want to break my back for eleven fucking dollars an hour, so I haven't heard from them.

The good news is that this morning we went to H+R Block to get Will's taxes done (I made under three grand and didn't have taxes taken out, so no filing for me) and he claimed me as a dependent, and he's getting money back from the evil government. Not a ton of money, but enough to put a nice dent in our credit card debt. And maybe get a present, or at least a nice lunch. I vote for sushi. SUSHI! We will take Cassie. (Don't tell Will! I haven't asked him yet! I just thought of it!)

So the nice lady who did the tax preparation for us, Noemi (what a lovely name), was really friendly and funny and told us that we were throwing our money away and should be making mortgage payments instead of paying rent every month. She showed us how our tax refund would look if we owned, and it came out to about the amount we'd be paying in property taxes, which seems fair. Also, she seemed pretty confident that we could buy without a down payment, though we'd still need the closing costs and all that. I don't really like the idea of not making a down payment, because it would mean higher interest if I am not mistaken, but I still like the idea of buying a house enough to give it some thought. Not that I haven't been thinking about it non-stop, but she made it sound like something that should happen sooner than we were planning, and that means PUPPY, so I want to do it.

In conclusion, I am bringing Will his lunch. I'M BRINGING WILL HIS LUNCH!

tame

"To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."

Windows is useless.

I'm all set to install Windows XP. This has been something I've put off for essentially two years for a variety of reasons, some of them actually legitimate. But now that I am actually ready to install the upgrade, Setup won't run. It tells me I am out of memory. Ridiculous! I have more than the minimum requirement, though I probably should get more eventually. My guess is that other programs are usurping the memory needed for the installation, but I don't know which ones. So I went to the Microsoft webpage and looked at the XP Home Troubleshooting guide. Guess what?! It contains the exact same information as the paper guide that came with my XP CD, which does not cover the memory problem. All it says is that installation may take longer if you do not have the minimum required memory. Yeah, if longer = forever! Jerks.

I'm trying my trusty friend Google now. Again. Eventually I will have entered every single possible combination of key words and might even find a useful site.

...Oh, great. I found a really helpful page telling me to boot from the installation CD, which I assume means that the installation takes place at least partly in DOS. I don't mind doing this, but it is very different than the Windows instructions (probably a good thing) and also seems that it would hinder the online part of the installation (but I think that is only the activation thingy, which can be done later, so that might not be an issue).

Why is this so complicated? I know that I am not stupid. I know that people upgrade their operating system every day.

At this rate, I may Scarlett O'Hara this process into next year.

In other news, today is International Dance Like A Monkey Day! Go, monkeys! Dance!

I'm not going to talk about Kurt Cobain.

It has come to my attention that it is the 10th anniversary of his death. Suicide always makes me sad, but his really didn't. This has, however, nothing to do with him.

About a week before his death, a friend of mine, J, had an abnormal pap smear. Having now been through this myself, it doesn't really seem like that big a deal. However, at the time I had very little knowledge of how common this is; she also had some family health issues and was, er, a little promiscuous. She went in for further testing a day or two before his body was found. On the day, I was out doing something-or-other, and got back to my dad's house to find frantic messages from both J and my mother (whose message told me to call J immediately). I assumed that the new tests had found something seriously wrong with her. I was in a horrible panic when I called her back. She was crying, and told me...Kurt Cobain killed himself.

I was so fucking relieved that I still can't bring myself to really give a crap. It sucks that his daughter doesn't have a father in her life. It sucks that he was so depressed. The whole damn thing sucks. But in the context of my life, it meant nothing.

HELLBOY: in (U.S.) theaters now.

LOVED it.

Utter Devastation

My computer runs a virus scan once a week. It's never found anything - not one thing! - but today it found and quarantined SEVEN Trojan Horses. It failed to find even ONE Sean Bean, so I am now in the market for new Anti-Virus software.

Question.

Here's the deal: I got up at about 8:30 this morning. Will got up a little after 10:30. He is showered and dressed and cleaning the grill and porch. I am wearing the clothing I slept in, thinking about a third cup of coffee, and goofing off online.

So, should I at least make him breakfast?

I hate the world.

Dear Los Angeles County Property Tax Information Line,

BLOW ME. I didn't ask to receive someone else's delinquent tax demand. I didn't ask to be on hold for a combined 45 minutes between different companies I was told to call (though I can't rightfully hold you responsible for the Postal Inspector's deficiencies). And I certainly didn't ask to get a fucking busy signal when I finally got through your ridiculously long and complicated automated menu.

Yours,
Frustrated and Angry

Oh, gee whiz. Why don't we just reinstate the Hays Code?

Stop the world, I want to get off.

The FCC has announced that it may be investigating soap operas due to their "steamy" content. Excuse me while I laugh my head off in preparation to expatriate. (If that wasn't already a word, it is now.)

Do something about it. (There is no proof whatsoever that petitions like this work, and I have myself spoken against online petitions in the past. However, in this case I feel that it cannot possibly hurt.)