Blissful, blissful Saturday. The sun is shining, it's warm and summer-y and I've got lemon sherbert, so all is well with the world.

I experienced a pomogranate mimosa for the first time this morning at brunch. Deeee-lish. Made me feel like I was drinking something healthy, with the added benefit of alcohol in the morning.

Headed to Portland tomorrow for a business trip, so sit tight kids while I'm away from blogging land for a few days...

Theme for this evening is change. I'm thinking of moving into a new place, and just got back from viewing some potential options. Most were smaller than I envisioned. A lot smaller. Which isn't bad, it's just...different. I'm sitting here trying to picture all of my furniture in a new environment, and then wondering if I might have to get rid of some things.

But. So. Hmmmm. Just contemplating potential changes in life and my environment. Very perplexed now. Change is hard. I think there's a reason I've not moved in eight years...this is really taxing my brain tonight.

Oh Morrissey, you're just having a tough time these days, aren't you pal?

First people are all up in a wad about your recent remarks about President Bush. Now they go and cancel Lollapalooza?

Well I still believe in you, old friend. Sure I haven't bought your new album yet (or the last one before that) although when I walked through a record store recently and they put the new one on, I got all nostalgic and excited and angsty.

Hang in there.

Okay, phew. I'm done with my open letter writing for a while now -- due in part to the adorable turquoise handbag I found to make up for my frustration. It's all better now....

I've been very zen all weekend and have even started a new knitting project -- yes, it's another scarf and no I'm not ready to move on to any projects that involve anything more complicated than a straight line. It's really the only productive thing I can do in this heat -- I feel like a giant lump of inactivity.

All in all, the weekend tally:

Adorable Handbag Count: 1
Infomercials watched: 400 +
Naps taken: 2
Cleaning, organizing or other productive activity performed: 0

Open Letter To the Buyer For The "Women's World" Department Of My Local Department Store:

Dear Sir or Madam,

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm fat. I don't like admitting that very often, and I don't like writing about it to Buyers for my Local Department Store, but after my shopping experience yesterday I have to ask, what gives?

What's with the elastic waist Mom Pants, the denim romper dresses, the Hawaiian print blouses, the "Best Nana Ever!" sweatshirts and the boxy, shapeless Real Estate Agent jackets? Do you assume that everyone over a size 12 checks their fashion sense at the door and gives up entirely? Also, is everyone over a size 12 70 years old and colorblind?

Believe me, if I could take my business elsewhere I would -- in a heartbeat, but it seems that Banana Republic, J. Crew, Abercrombie and The Gap don't want my business since they all seem to be selling exclusively to sizes 12 and under.

All I'm asking for is some well-made alternatives to Grandma-wear. Given the non-stop media coverage about this country's obesity crisis, I can't imagine I'm alone on this one. Surely there are other -- I'll say it again -- FAT women like me who haven't given up on looking chic, professional, hip and dare I even say SEXY?

Gentle Buyer for My Local Department Store, please take a lesson from stores such as Lane Bryant and Torrid who understand that while I'm not a size two, I'm still not a candidate for Mom Pants.

Until then, my "Women's World" sized behind will have to take her business elsewhere.

So I am home again, thankfully, and back with the world's most snuggly kitty EVER. Away from the humidity and the wife beater shirts and the bleating frogs, which I have tracked down here.Those little suckers are LOUD.

Can safely say I have no desire to return to Florida anytime in the next, say 100 years or so.

So this is Florida. Phhhhht. Swear to God, Hank Hill is next door to me right now yakking away loudly in the hallway to Boomhauer. The accent is dead-on. Sounds like they are right outside my door. Everyone here seems to wear baggy wife beater shirts.

Also outside my room, right in the 'crik outside, there are dozens, if not hundreds of frogs -- how can I say this -- BLEATING outside of the hotel room. It sounds like sheep having very loud sex. Very loud, angry sheep sex. I was very freaked out my first night here and almost attacked my room service lady about the noise ("WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SOUND? ARE WE NEAR A POWER PLANT OR SOMETHING??").

My air conditioner makes this weird sound when it powers down that is exactly like a typewriter. I hallucinated that my laptop was typing me messages in the middle of the night. This. Cannot. Be. Good.

Welcome to Florida -- State Motto: The State Where People Come To Die.

Hmm. Last day at home before I head to Orlando for four days of sun, relaxation, beach time and fruity drinks. No wait. That's not right. I meant to say, four days in Orlando at the convention center with frumpy clothes and sore feet and gritted teeth and the constant reminder to myself WERE YOU NOT GOING TO GET IN SHAPE FOR THIS THE LAST TIME??? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GREAT PROFESSIONAL CLOTHES YOU WERE GOING TO BUY TOO, HUH???

Still, a trip's a trip even if its for work and it really is nice to see people that you don't see very often. Thomas the Wonder Cat has seen the big black box come out that means Mommy Is Going On A Trip and he's already acting weird. Tiny walnut-sized brain and yet 90 percent of it seems dedicated to anxiety over being left alone. Siiiiiigh.

Phew. Spirits slightly higher than yesterday, which can't be too difficult a task. Totally ideal morning, in which I slept in, read the Sunday New York Times leftover from last weekend, got some tidying done and then spent a good four hours watching more Dawson's Creek with Stacy while eating brie and French bread with a good Merlot.

Really, does it get better than that? Well, sure. I could have spent the day lounging with my amazing, brilliant (imaginary) boyfriend discussing politics and literature, or walking through the streets of London soaking up art and tea...but a girl has to start slow and I think as long as brie, friends and Dawson is involved it's all good.

Worst. Day. Ever. Work sucked in so many different ways today. I'm exhausted emotionally and physically. Want to crawl into a hole and never come out. I feel about an inch high.

Feel myself falling asleep and its 9:04 on a Friday night. Just watched the Reagan funeral for two straight hours on C-SPAN, which seemed about right for my state of mind. Seeing Nancy start to cry and collapse over the casket -- with Ron and Patty and doughy Michael running up and hovering over her -- all while cameras clicked by the dozens in the background...Somehow I feel dirty and invasive for watching it.

I'm going to bed. Let's get the day over with as soon as possible.

So tonight I'm blond again, thanks to some home coloring action and a desire to spruce things up for summer. Felt vaguely depressed while doing it -- I realize that coloring one's hair out of a box may disastrously impact my hipster street cred. It's just not something that the cool kids do; I should be at some hip salon being dismissed by a tattooed stylist who scowls at me and charges $200 for chunky highlights.

Okay, so I'm not cool. I'm blond though, and it only cost me $8. So eighth grade inferiority complex aside, I think I come out on top with this decision.

Clearly I'm going about this dating thing all wrong. I need to just hook my ass up with a Sugar Daddy -- which apparently this dating service can provide.

Possibly the creepiest thing I've seen in a long time.

Two random items/thoughts this morning:

1.) My houseguest/oldest wisest friend Jen packed up her ENORMOUS backpack and headed back home today. Sniff. So good to see her again and have more than just a rushed dinner together over the holidays. The importance of just hanging out and being with friends cannot be overemphasized. I forget that too often -- that it doesn't have to be some complicated elaborate swirl of activities...its just the quiet chill time that is often the best.

2.) Dahlings -- who among us doesn't want to be toting around their goodies in a Hermes Birkin bag? And yet who among us has a spare $8,000 laying around? Are you kidding? For a BAG? Check out this great site that offers adorable knockoffs for a mere $50. I feel its my civic duty to offer this resource to the Birkin-impaired.

Went and saw Super Size Me last night. What a terrific movie -- terrifying and hilarious at the same time. True to everything I've heard about it, it does indeed make you never want to eat fast food again. Ever.

You can check out Morgan Spurlock's blog here and the Website to the movie here if you're not able to scamper out immeadiately to the theatre.

Allow me to sum up the weekend in 3-word phrases:

PT Cruiser convertible.
Floating boat sushi.
Best Sheraton EVER.
Fabulous Skoah massages.
Lush shower gel.
Hon's Wonton soup.
Dill pickle chips.

Need I say more?

YAHOOO -- Onward this afternoon to the fantastic metropolis of Vancouver. Cannot wait to be walking around with the fashionistas on Robson and sitting down to a floating sushi dinner served on tiny boats.

Looking forward too to the thrill of driving there -- it's the simple things for a girl like me...a rental car in my command, floating dinners, goodies from Lush, you know, the basics.

Still have today to get through first, but soon enough it will all be good...counting down...

As trite as the phrase is, sometimes there really are things that restore your faith in humanity.

Thanks and good karmic vibes go out to the kind stranger who found a certain item of mine on the street and mailed it back to its proper owner.

It's National Spelling Bee time. In proof that I am indeed a enormogeek, I felt a tiny secret thrill when I saw that the kiddies were starting to assemble in our nation's capital for the 77th Annual Spelling Bee.

You can look up who is representing your state here and cheer them on. Go, Andrew Lokomaikaikeakua Kaleohano from Wenatchee, Washington, Go with your bad-ass spelling self!

Ahhhh, memories of sitting in my elementary school classroom practicing words with my friends Jenny and Virginia and Nathan and Leon, visions of spelling stardom welling up in my eyes. Send good vibes to these kids. Vibes that include lots of complicated, Latin-rooted origins that can be used in sentences.

The Internet never fails to amaze me. Today I was looking for some amusing sites about Dawson's Creek to help me on my newfound obsession and lo and behold --- here are a few gems to share with my public:

You can actually make a custom mix CD with the songs that are featured on Dawson's Creek here, in the event you can't possibly ever get enough of that Paula Cole song.

In addition to the bios of the stars, crew, etc. (which seems easy enough to find), you can find the HOME PAGES OF THE CHARACTERS, including Dawson's home page, Joey's home page, and Pacey's home page.

There is also a (rather extensive) personality test (it's under "Fun Things") to find how which character from Dawson's Creek you most resemble. I, not surprisingly, am Joey.

Classic Beth Moment.

In which our hero decides to rearrange her furniture in order to create the Ultimate Living Space only to find half way through the ordeal that there's literally only one way that furniture can be arranged in that room, which is, the original way that things were when the adventure began.

Siiiigh. Oh, and I joined the lemmings and finally read The Da Vinci Code. Its kind of alarming to hear how seriously people are taking this book. Do a Google search on it and find out for yourselves. It's fiction, people, get a grip.

Not sure where this came from, but I spent much of today watching old episodes of Dawson's Creek, a show I never really cared much about previously. I know this severely affects what minimal street cred I had up to these point. I'm not ashamed.

Maybe I'm feeling nostalgic for my teen years spent off Cape Cod when I was a scrappy blue collar waitress in love with my childhood best friend soul mate who viewed me more as a sister than an actual woman? Or can a girl just watch too many really bad infomercials before she snaps and rents bad WB dramas?

Television Without Pity, a great site on its own, has perhaps the best commentaries about the show here.

I'm in love. I'm smitten. I'm giddy. Remember the episode of Sex and the City when Miranda fell in love with Tivo? Well I have fallen in love with Flexcar. I have a huge massive sticky crush on Flexcar. How did I live before this? Everything seems...better...now that I've met Flexcar. I get butterflies in my tummy when I think about our next encounter.

Flexcar, you've taken me to places I never thought I'd go again. Like Trader Joe's. You've given me convenience, safety, ease of use and airbags, all things I lacked previously. Oh Flexcar, you're so dreeeeeamy....

The downtown Sephora opens today. I could not be happier. Endless shelves of potions and balms and scrubs and creams, right here in my little neighborhood for me to poke around with. Loveitloveitloveit!

Ah, the official end of an era. Cleaned out my car, bid adieu to the Honda of Joy and thanked Chad The Service Guy for all of his help. My voice shook as I talked and I knew I had to get out of there fast.

As I walked back home, in the pouring rain, carrying two garbage bags that consisted of everything in my car, I found myself crying and whimpering like a school girl. What a sight I must have been. I missed my car. It hit me once and for all that...it really is OVER.

Sniff.

I am all shades of whiny and sulky and pouty single womanhood, so consider yourselves warned.

It just...really really really SUCKS sometimes to have an off the record crappy-ass day at work and then take the foul-smelling bus home alone only to come home to an (empty) apartment that smells like garbage because you forgot to take it out that morning and then have to cook your tired and cranky self dinner for one...only to then take about 40 pounds of dirty laundry down to the basement to find that someone ELSE has hogged the two washers/driers for the entire night, thereby eliminating your chance of doing laundry.

JEEZ. Is it so much to ask for a housekeeper/chef/errand runner/masseuse/soulmate? Really, people?

Two hour season finale of The Swan tonight.

Yes, it's offensive. And ridiculous. And demeaning. And insulting. Yes, the women often end up looking like busty drag queens with too much hair and make-up.

Will I be watching? YOU BET.

Ah, the world of those without a car. Such insight into their worlds! Here a few valuable lessons learned over the weekend:

1.) Don't buy more than you can comfortably carry around for a mile, if not more.
2.) A box of Tide, coupled with a Sunday New York Times, is an example of what NOT to lug around for more than an hour while you do your errands.
3.) Cute shoes are great if you have a car, but slightly ridiculous if you're hoofing it carrying four bags of groceries plus a box of Tide and a Sunday New York Times.

A sherpa in Nepal today climbed to the peak of Mount Everest in 8 hours, 10 minutes, beating the current record by more than 2 1/2 hours. Think about that. That's, like, a day at the office. A normal Friday at the office. How is it that this guy climbs MOUNT EVEREST in 8 hours and I can't seem to get through my email Inbox?

Also, take a quiz and find out how much of a hipster you are. I'm about 70 percent hipster, which sounds right to me.

That Nepalese sherpa is 100 percent hipster, by the way.

I get on LOTS of kicks. Most of the time they last for a few hours, maybe a few days, and then fade away. Very few of them actually come to fruition. Examples:

I want a treadmill! I will become a hardbody!
I want a kitten to keep Thomas company!
I want to read all of the classic novels I bluffed my way through in high school!
I want an Indian cookbook to make Tandoori Chicken every single night!
I want to be fluent in French! And Spanish!

This morning I have determined that I want to become a librarian. Seriously. I love literature. I love researching things. I'm passionate about libraries. All it would take is a master's degree and roughly, oh, a million dollars that I don't have to finance my schooling and subsequent life of living on a librarian salary.

No mocking the Kick of the Day until the 48 hour "obsessive wishful thinking" period expires. Also, parties interested in funding Beth's Kick of the Day should email me immediately before the interest passes and I become interested in herbal soapmaking or something...

Okay, I'm a big sucker incapable of reading fine print. I'm also incredibly peeved right now.

I got on a kick this afternoon to upgrade my cell phone. Everyone else has these great funky phones that all but give hot stone massages, and I still have my weird little phone whose main feature is that it's BLUE.

So I found out that Sprint has an upgrade dealio where they give existing customers $150 towards a new phone every 18 months. Hello new phone! I had my eye on this one especially. I could send not only pictures, but videos with my phone. VIDEOS, people. I was practically foaming at the mouth.

Unfortunately my experience at my local Sprint store taught me that there are some catches to the upgrade deal and it turns out that...well...long story short the upgrade deal is still pretty cool, but it's not an instant gratification/ticket to an almost free phone sort of thing.

I feel so peeeeved right now at them for getting my hopes up like that. If I had a video phone I could email you streaming video of me sitting here ranting and typing angrily. Alas, it may be a while...

Time to play Thumbs Up/Thumbs Down:

Thumbs Up!
It's SIFF season once again and with it come the hoardes of bleary-eyed moviegoers weak from their popcorn binges and subtitle reading. Looks like lots of good stuff this year, now I just need to sit down with my matrix o' movies and decide when and where to go.

Thumbs Down!
You know what sucks? When you get those mid-afternoon munchies and you start thinking about how good a Toblerone bar would be right about now and instead all you have is -- of all things -- some leftover cucumber salad. Can I even express how NOT like a Toblerone bar that is?

So....yeah.

Spent a good portion of the day trying to find someone to take my car away, if only for parts...which made me feel productive, but on the other hand it also depressed me because several people -- and these are WRECKING YARDS, mind you -- DON'T WANT IT. I was surprised how few places were interested in my car...I felt -- I don't know -- insulted somehow.

In completely unrelated news, I found out today that the guy that played Squiggy from Laverne and Shirley is actually a scout for the Mariners. GO FIG.

In other unrelated news to THAT, the New York Times did a great spread on our new central library that's going to open next weekend. They're expecting 30,000 people to attend the opening. Of a library. Isn't that great? This is why I love this town.

Total slugdom today. Getting nothing done at all. I think I'm depressed about the car.

I did manage to watch all of season two of The Office last night, which was BRILLIANT, if only because the first episode starts out with an homage to the Muppet Show's "Ma Na Ma Na" song (you have to scroll down a bit to find the skit).

On the bright side, I spent a good portion of the afternoon reading the New York Times which I haven't done in quite a while. I forget how GOOD it is. Like a giant vitamin of information and style and culture. Did I really just say that? Sorry, I'm a little out of it today.

Car overheated again today while doing errands. Siiiiigh. Smoke coming out from what appeared to be the back end of my car. Thank God I was only about five or six blocks from my house and I was able to get it home.

I must say I'm getting all too used to being in an intersection, or driving along merrily and suddenly having my car overheat or smoke or make strange sounds. It doesn't really even panic me anymore. It's gotten to the point where I can just shrug and say "Here we go again." I know the Honda of Seattle guys by first name. Chad's been very helpful through this whole experience.

I'm sad more than anything. This is the final death toll for the car. These are truly its last days. O Little Honda of Joy -- you gave so much. It's time to say goodnight.

Must. Learn. Another. Language. Immediately.

I feel like an ignorant American this morning. A co-worker had a briefing with an analyst from Paris and conducted it entirely in French. Very suave.

I am now realizing that after six years of Spanish in high school, I can't really do more than ask Juan where the beach is. I need help. Anyone have any recommendations for language tapes/books/classes that can help me brush up?

In another shameless plug, I need to discuss Tom's of Maine toothpaste. I've been using this stuff for, oh, two tubes worth...however long that is. Didn't choose it for any specific reason other than it was there and I needed toothpaste and that was the only option at Trader Joe's.

And it was fine. Got the job done. I was pleased.

And then this morning I returned to my old standby Colgate and WHOA what a difference. It tasted...chemical and super super sweet. Where was the natural feeling? It was like brushing with sugar. Tom's makes a big deal of pointing out that it doesn't use artificial sweeteners in its toothpaste but it never hit me how...artificial my original toothpaste was...until I compared the two.

You go, Tom, with your natural unsweetened toothpaste! I am now a loyal customer that won't sway again.

All Hail the Almighty Flexcar!

Recently I've been debating whether or not to sell my car. It has huge, huge sentimental value for me...but the fact is that the Little Honda of Joy (aka, "Stan") has turned into the Little Honda of Great Displeasure in these recent years. I know its not the car's fault - it's old, it's wearing down and it's done a mighty fine job through the years, but the fact is, it's turning into quite the beater vehicle.

But, being an American who loves her car, I was resistant to sell it just because it left me stranded without a car. And Lord knows I am NOT a bus person. Enter Flexcar! With their hip little Hondas that you can use on an hourly basis to run errands and jog around town with. It seems like an ideal solution. No major decisions yet, but it's wonderfully juicy food for thought.

Book Review Time! Given my recent travels, I've had a lot of time to catch up on reading and here are a few highly recommended options:

The Solace of Open Spaces, by Gretel Erdrich. Amazing and insightful collection of short stories about Wyoming and the people who live there.

You Are Not A Stranger Here, by Adam Haslett. Whooof. These short stories pack a wallop. Heartbreaking, touching and hard to turn away from. They'll whack you upside the head and leave you begging for more.

No Touch Monkey (And Other Travel Lessons Learned Too Late), by Ayun Halliday. Funny and self depricating...I love this gal. Only downside to this book is that it bums me out that I didn't travel more when I was younger and more willing to head to exotic places without a second care.

Four days blog-free. So much to update. There were a FEW celebrity sightings at the show...but no one particularly exciting. A few people from Survivor and Ruben from American Idol. Candace Bushnell was supposed to have been at the show, but I didn't see her. I'm glad its all over.

The vacation part of wonderful and lazy and full of pooltime in the sun. Pleased to report that I did not return to Seattle with a third-degree sunburn like I did two years ago. Felt very old and out of it when we stumbled down to the pool only to find about 20 college kids on spring break in their tanned and toned and thonged glory running around with their cigarettes and daquiries. Keep it down, will ya? I'm trying to read my Marie Claire in peace and quiet -- and stop running so soon after being in the pool!

Had the obligatory Hurricane at Pat O'Briens, which was NASTY, much like 20 ounces of Hawaiian Punch concentrate with rum mixed in. Please, kids, do not try those at home. Spent some quality time at Cafe DuMonde people watching and snarfing down beignets and frozen coffee slushies. Watched an angry clown shout at people. Note to self: No one likes to be around angry clowns.

Think one of the best nights consisted of staying inside our hotel room watching the last episode of Friends and eating pizza and oreos and Bud Light. I really am a simple white trash girl at heart, I think.

Overall, I'm so so glad to be home...sitting back here looking into my courtyard listening to Ryan Adams and chilling on a slow, sunny Sunday. Always interesting to come back after a long trip and see how it changes your perspective on things. You get a new view on your routine after you've been away from it for a while. A new appreciation for some things and a new motivation to change others.

Finally -- a big fat, sloppy HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all of my friends that are (gasp!) MOTHERS. Hope you have a wonderful day...you all deserve the best.

Feet hurt. Joints hurt. back hurts. Head hurts. Tired of carrying this binder everywhere throughout the convention center.

No B-level celebrity sightings to speak of, either. Grrrrrrr....

Sad moment when you realize that yes, you are indeed yuppie scum:

You are in a Kinko's-like copy center, wearing a suit and holding a binder and a cell phone, and your checker rings up your copy order and the bill comes to, say $300, and your checker announces that that's more than she makes in an entire pay period.

I walked away feeling bad and guilty and sad for both of us, really.

The show hasn't even technically begun and I woke up with stabbing back pain, which makes me feel like I'm about a hundred and fifty years old. Could barely wash my hair in the shower because my arms didn't move that high up. This can't be good. There's a train that comes, presumably, down my hotel hallway at precisely 2:40 and 5:40 in the morning. Siiigh.

Paul Allen's enormous yacht, the Octopus, is parked outside the convention center. That thing is obscene. 413 feet long, which even for a boating novice like me, seems out of control. We saw a helicopter land on it on Friday night and stood there slack jawed.

Food report: Oysters on the half shell are a girl's best friend. Oyster shooters (a shot of vodka with cocktail sauce, horseradish and a fresh oyster) are a close second. Abita beer, a local brew made by a New Orleans bottled water company, tastes exactly like...bottled water. Refreshing yes, but definitely not beer-like.

I have arrived and so far things seem to be going pretty smoothly. Have I just jinxed myself by saying that? A lovely dinner last night in the touristy Riverwalk shopping mall complete with a waiter named "Jashhhon" that had a lisp. Kicked off the morning with Beignets coated with a good inch of powdered sugar and a scaulding cafe au lait. Can't talk about New Orleans without mentioning the food in every other sentence.

Weather here seems cool and (relatively) lovely given that the last time I was in this city it was 100 degrees and sopping wet. Feet are already sore from scurrying around the show floor and it hasn't even begun yet. Didn't I say a few weeks ago that I was hoping to be perkier and more in shape to prepare for this show...? Um, what happened with that?

I forget that fresh food is an impossibility here. Everything is either deep fried or slathered in gravy or batter to prepare for deep frying. Ah well, I won't care later this week when the vacation portion of this trip kicks in. Cannot wait to be poolside with a Hurricane getting some sun...but for now it's four day of workin' feverishly. Stay tuned...

Ahhhh. That is the sound of a relaxed and prepared traveler. The computer is fixed, the bag is (almost) packed and Beth is ready to hit the road for a week of Jambalaya in the Big Easy.

Thanks to all of you who have mocked me and asked if I will be leaving for the airport TONIGHT in order to make my flight for tomorrow. Very funny. I stand firmly by my nuerotic airport behavior. Let's see how you all like it when you're running to catch a plane while I am already sitting snugly (and smugly) aboard the plane in my seat, seatbelt firmly fastened low and tight across my lap.

Stay tuned for reports throughout the trip!

I am. Freaking out. BIG TIME.

Laptop at home is very grumpy and irritable. Last night it was all but spewing pea soup through its floppy drive. No Internet access. Mucho problemos with the ISP. Crashy crashy. Why is this happening two days before I leave and have to travel with it? Do laptops get nervous before trips or something? Is it boycotting something?

I was actually petting it and speaking in hushed gentle tones last night. "Come on baby, you can do it...I know you're old and tired, but let's give it a shot..."

God help any of my neighbors who happened to see the crazy lady talking to her computer and eating plain arugula at 11:30 last night.

According to the calendar right next to me, today is Anzac Day in Australia and New Zealand. Interested in reading more about this national holiday? Click here.

If you're not interested in reading more about that, and would rather, say, learn more about what Beth has planned during her stay in New Orleans, click here.

Don't say I never give my readers options! I am a regular Choose Your Own Adventure author. Remember those books from your youth? I was an enormous fan. Here's an updated version for our times.

Sitting here. Doing nothing. Haven't done laundry. Haven't cleaned my house. I leave for New Orleans is less than a week and I'm totally unprepared. Totally useless day.

Well, that's not true. I did have a darned nice brunch with my friend Steph over some killer bloody marys, so it hasn't been entirely non-productive. And I did buy a fun pair of pink slides from Payless for $7.

Was surprised to see that Jelly shoes are making a comeback. That is, if the Capital Hill Payless is any indicator of couture fashion and I believe it is. Those were such a bad idea, even when we were 10. The sweating! The slipping! The dirt! The imprints of your grimy foot on the plastic soul. Why would we relive this experience? I am all for fun, colorful summer shoes, but let's get a grip and not relive our jellied past.

Need to slide my pink (non jellied) shoes on and see if they motivate me any...

I noticed today that I've started getting the Home and Garden channel and with it has come a whole new world I didn't know existed. It's like getting a view into an obscure Aboriginal culture. Well, more like an obscure Aboriginal culture with in-ground pools and rooftop hottubs.

You'd think from this channel that everyone in the universe owned homes and had unlimited spending budgets to remodel, redecorate and redesign. As an apartment dweller, I couldn't know (or care) LESS about irrigation trenches and window installation and crown moulding. No trips to Home Depot for this girl. I like the absence of responsibility that an apartment brings.

Sure, every now and then I want to paint my stark white walls and install better fixtures and move a shiny new stainless steel kitchen into my place...but then that feeling quickly dulls away when I consider the $100K tab and months of construction that it would entail.

For now I'll have to continue observing this strange new culture from the safety of my sofa and my rented apartment.

Morrissey was right -- we DO hate it when our friends become successful. Take bands, for example.

Have you ever found a totally obscure band that no one has heard of and fall in love with them and then -- suddenly they hit the mainstream and they are EVERYWHERE and you become disenchanted and eventually deeply annoyed/hostile with them? Dude, I knew them when they were cool, you might say. (Or you might not, I can't say for sure.)

That was me with the Barenaked Ladies. My friend Jen and I were listening to them when we were just high school punks buying CASSETTES at Wax Trax. We had to ask for them because they were so unheard of. Now, they're freakin' everywhere. They kind of bug me now. Not sure why. They haven't done anything to me. They still put on kick-ass shows that are hilarious. The lead singer Steve is still a total cutie.

Why am I going on and on and on about this? I found their blog site today. Check it out. Hope they don't annoy you. They were darned cool singing about Yoko Ono and Cruel Green Dresses.

Seriously people, not a single comment? At all? Sniff.

Siiiiiiiiiigh.

It's been a crazed couple of days at work, so I offer up a few warm and fuzzy ways to relieve stress:

1.) Virtual Bubble Wrap. Check it out. Enjoy the soothing popping sounds it makes. Note the "boss button" up top in case you need to switch over and look Officially Busy in a pinch.

2.) Poke the Bunny. Go ahead. Poke him. He seems okay with it.

3.) Singing Hamster. Need I say more? He rocks out with the best of them.

Today is the five year anniversary of Columbine. I honestly hadn't thought about it very much until Dateline whacked me upside the head with it on Sunday night. Then I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was a receptionist when it happened. My friend emailed me a link to a Denver news station that morning and said "isn't this in your old neck of the woods?" right as it was starting to unfold. I called my mom and we put her on speakerphone and everyone at work huddled around it while she repeated the reports from the newscasts. Later that week, as I stayed glued to the TV, I saw Al Gore standing in my old church back home at one of the funerals. It was very surreal and very terrifying.

This morning I turn on the news and find Katie Couric coming to us live from Clement Park with some parents sounding all sniffly and emotional. Thank you so much for sharing your story with us, she said.

The media scene about Columbine now just makes me ill. Thousands of press swoop in, gather up quotes and interviews with survivors and witnesses, and they fly home and wrap up their packages and their stories. Then they're done. Onto the next bit of news for the day. It becomes a story, not a reality.

Just makes me hurt, the tragedy that happened and the aftermath it brought.

Man I love libraries. I mean, I LOVE THEM. I love what they stand for, I love what they provide for a community. They just rock. When I lived in Denver, one of my favorite places was the downtown library they had just built at the time. One of the saddest things is to walk into a run-down library and feel all...icky...while you're there. It feels like a disservice.

There was a book/library convention here a few weeks ago and I was seriously giddy to see all of the library and book aficionados walking around the convention center with their cardigans and their book bags and their sensible walkin' shoes. Those are my peeps!

So I have to gloat and share that in just a few short weeks, Seattle is getting a brand spankin' new library right downtown. Check it out here. It's very cool looking.
I will be there with bells on when it opens.

Okay, so maybe muted bells so I don't get yelled at by a librarian.

In my dream this morning, I dreamt I was...in bed, just beginning to wake up. There was a guy next to me that looked like Christian Bale (but that's really beside the point). It was clear this was our first morning, ahem, together if you get my drift. Legs all tangled up together in the sheets. And it was that dozey time in the morning where neither of you are awake yet, and you just cuddle up into each other still clumsy with sleep. Everything's quiet and serene and not yet invaded by the rest of the world.

Christian Bale-guy got up, surveyed the room around him, and then came back to bed, all warm and snuggly.

Then I woke up. Next to my cat. And felt very sad and disappointed and lonely. I forgot how wonderful those mornings are.

Ladies and Gents, I bring you the joy of ExplodingDog.com. This is a great site and a surefire way to put a smile on your face. People send this guy titles, and he draws them pictures to match those titles.

My favorites so far have been "Don't Eat That Banana" and "Why Are You So Sad?"

The archives are especially nice as well. Check it out and see which ones are your favorites.

Things I Fear:

Death
War
Fire
Eels
Giant mutant goldfish that live in the sewers
Gutters (see above)
My parents getting sick and/or old
Spiders
Having blood drawn
Not being cool enough
Earthquakes
Tornados
Life without my car
Conversations about politics
Getting laid
Getting laid off
Meeting someone wonderful
Never meeting anyone ever
Spontaneous combustion
Heights
Drowning
Frat boys
The sensation that people might somewhere be talking about me
Heart disease
Getting evicted
Dark, unfamiliar places
"Schmoozing" or "Networking"

For more information about fear, and the scientific names for specific phobias, check this out.

As my love of processed food and great middle American cuisine continues to ripen, I include here a recipe for the Bisquick "Impossibly Easy Taco Pie" which I made recently, with great giddiness.

I could seriously eat this every day and not get tired of it. Note how I am able to say that without shame. That cannot be a good sign.

In perhaps the kinkiest/weirdest/most bizarre marketing concept EVER, Burger King has introduced the new mascot for its BK TenderCrisp, the Subservient Chicken. Go here and make him do pretty much anything you want. I've had him walk over to the bookshelf, tap dance and hop like a bunny.

He's in my control. He's very obedient. Make him your slave chicken as well.

Do you ever meet someone new and develop an innocent crush on them? And maybe, say, start thinking about that new person and how great the two of you would be together? And you keep thinking "It would be so fun! We could go to shows together! And movies! And frolic in the park like those obnoxious couples are always doing!"

And then someone, say, who doesn't know about your innocent crush/growing obsession, mentions how great said person's GIRLFRIEND is and you're seriously bummed out that your imaginary/nonexistent relationship didn't work out even though it never really began?

I mean, I that doesn't happen to me. I'm much too suave and sophisticated when it comes to relationships to be like that. I was just asking. In case, you know, it happened to any of you. To see, maybe, what that was like. Because I don't know. Seriously.

HUH. Check this out:

I found this site that appears to be a Netflix-type setup for books. You sign up, they send you books, you return them in a pre-paid envelope. Interesting idea -- I'm still trying to decide how I feel about it. I'm a huge, huge fan of Netflix and as one that is bad at returning videos on time, it was a perfect solution for me. I guess if you had a similar problem returning library books, this would work out well.

Looks like the company is founded by a bunch of former DC bigshots, including Marilyn Quayle.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Happy Easter, y'all!

Nice mellow Sunday filled with knitting and chilling on the sofa, in between seven loads of laundry. Phew. I can safely say that everything I own is now clean, from the duvet cover to the bathroom rugs to every peice of clothing worn over the past three months. What a huge sense of accomplishment.

I've potted my houseplants and have scattered them around the house feeling my green thumb glowing with pride. Check back in two months and see if they're still alive.

Looking forward to an Easter dinner of sushi and sake tonight. A bit non traditional, sure, but given the choice, who wouldn't prefer a spicy tuna roll to a sticky honey glazed ham? The choice is clear.

One trip to Home Depot and I am feeling like a gardening beast. I decided this weekend to throw away some money on some new houseplants. Right now all I have is a plant that I have literally owned since college and a sad, sickly little umbrella tree that I rescued from my work. That's it. Not good.

So I trekked on down to my neighborhood Home Depot to pick up some cutesy plants that would brighten up my place and bring a bit of spring into my world. First off, I need to report that you Home Depot people are INTENSE. You are totally unforgiving with your giant palates of drywall and 800 pounds of cement mix. I felt like a complete amateur. Little apartment-dwelling Beth was clearly out of her league in this environment.

$23 later, armed with some potting soil and 4 new additions to my plant collection, I returned home feeling content and connected to Mother Nature. Amazing what a little greenery can do for a girl.

I think a nice warm round of applause is due for the Mental Health Day! Is there anything better than taking a day off from work just to lounge around the house and chill? I think not.

Absolutely gorgeous day today -- a clear, blue, sky from beginning to end. I scampered out of bed bright and early (8:15! For those that know me, you know that's practically the crack of dawn in my world!), headed out for coffee (yes, OUT for coffee -- impressive, eh?) and then got sidetracked by a major allergy attack in the car that left me with weepy red eyes and violently angry contacts. I passed on the coffee idea and just went to get some gas and a car wash. So it wasn't super busy or glamorous, but hey, I wasn't at work like the rest of the world, right?

I am ashamed to admit I watched "The Swan" last night on Fox. It was a combination pitiful/horrifying/embarrassing viewing experience, which of course means I'll be hooked for the entire season. Let's hear it for plastic surgery, extreme liposuction, and 3 months of physical and emotional isolation in order to win...um...a beauty pageant! Who says we women haven't come a long way?

An appreciative shout out before I forget to the Easter Bunny that sent a delightful little basket my way. You're awesome.

Ah, the nostalgia bus! I was cleaning out some of the files in my computer and came across some old letters I had written to folks. In one I was super giddy because it was the first time I was writing anything on my laptop. ("Look at me! Using a laptop! Look at all the fonts it has!")

Some were really angry peeved off letters, mostly to old boyfriends. Those were amusing in their own way, but only because I've got the distance and closure to laugh about them now. I felt really bad because in one I spent a good half a page telling one person how amazing he was and how much I loved all of the great things we were doing together and...looking back now...I honestly can't remember ANY of the things I was talking about. Oopsie. It was like reading your high school yearbook with all of these inside jokes that were like a secret language to you then, but incomprehensible jibberish to you now.

Sorry man. I'm sure we had fun, didn't we? At the time?

I got nothin' today. I mean, NOTHIN'. My mind is a big blank white canvas. Puffy white clouds are drifting through it. Can't concentrate on anything. I stare at my computer. Type for a while. Erase what I've typed. Stare again.

I've got a three day weekend ahead of me and nothin' planned for that either. Surely the blankness has to stop at some point? I need to check out the Roadside America Sight Of the Week for inspiration.

Since all I can do lately is bury my head in the Al Franken book about liars, it would be remiss not to link to Air America Radio, the recently-launched liberal oasis in the talk radio world.

Check it out and spend a few minutes listening to my main man Al Franken tell it like it is...

From the "As If I, An American Woman, Didn't Have Enough To Consider In My Current Beauty Routine" files -- I offer up Belly Button Love Potion Fragrance. Which is fragrance. For your belly button. Seriously.

You can also buy this stuff here at Sephora for $34, which, if the concept of this product alone didn't upset/confuse you, then surely the price will knock your socks right off.

$34 for belly button gloss endorsed by Jessica Simpson? Clearly I am getting old, or rather getting cheap AND old because this seems like a lot to pay for something you literally stick in your belly button, even if it DOES taste yummy and even if it DOES attract nice morally upstanding men like Nick Lachey.

Sigh. Just had the most UNREAL phone conversation. I was relaying to my father my weekend, where I mentioned my giddy trip to the beach yesterday.

Him: "That sounds fun, who did you go with?"
Me: "Nobody. Just me."
Him: "Really? Just you? That's so great you can do that. You do a lot of stuff by yourself."
Me: "Yep."
Him: "It's so great you can do that. I mean, I can't do that. Like when (my wife) isn't in town, I could rent a movie, but I couldn't, say, GO to a movie. It would be too weird to sit there by myself."
Me. "Hmmm."
Him: "But then again, you've been single for 30 years. I mean, you're probably used to it."

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the amazing SINGLE WOMAN! For a limited time! She not only sleeps by herself, but manages to grocery shop, put gas in her car, go to work and even SIT ENTIRELY UNATTENDED IN COFFEE SHOPS! Do not be fooled by imitations! This is the genuine article!

Today was so good it was just...silly. Just downright silly.

First of all, I was the recent recipient of not one, but TWO random gifts from people. Random gifts rock! They're just like little hugs in a package (that sounds really corny, but its true)...just knowing that someone was thinking of you and wanting to send something your way is enough to put a goofy smile all over your face. Thank you so, so much. You know who you are and how much you rock.

So, giddy from my recent gifts, I decided to take advantage of the first official sunny warm day in Seattle and headed for Alki Beach. Alki is my happy place. It's like a slice of Venice Beach right here at home. There are cars lined up for miles just cruising the main drag, there are rollerblading bikini clad girlies, there are bikers looking mean, there's even an ice cream truck. I parked far away and walked towards the beach...literally GRINNING because its warm and sunny and the city looks beautiful and the Sound is this unreal shade of blue and HEY I got two random gifts recently! It was truly a nice day to be alive.

Laid out for two hours, sifting the sand through my fingers, listening to the waves. It was allll good.

Just got done watching LOTR The Two Towers. Lesson learned: War is bad. Also, trees can only put up with so much before they just get pissed off and vengeful.

So today at lunch I went with Stacy to grab a fish burrito. And the next thing you know we're talking en Espanol. Which seems hilarious. We're giddy about saying things like "necesito una cerveza este noche," etc. I realize that's kind of sad, but when you can randomly start speaking in Spanish to someone with no explanation, it's a very amusing thing.

So later on in the afternoon, still high on the hablando-ing en Espanol kick, I mention that our mascot should be BumbleBee Man from the Simpsons. Which brings me to THIS which is the Official Website for BumbleBee Man from the Simpsons.

Is there anything out there that's NOT on the Internet I ask you? Viva la Internet!

I'm feelin' the urge to be crafty stirring up inside me. The craftiness, it's a callin' to me, big time.

Check out the paper window shades here and here -- how CUTE are they? So often I see that fancy, funky paper in stores and think "Huh, well that's nice, but what would I do with it?" and the answer is clearly to make it into a window dressing. Now we'll see how long it takes before I actually follow this through....

April already. 2004 is already a quarter OVER! Where does the time go? (Beth, the time gets sucked away when you organize photos for six solid hours on the weekends...jeez)

Pop Quiz, Hotshot! It's Quiz-A-Rama time....learn more about yourself, your role in the world and which Care Bear you most resemble.

Which Care Bear are you?
Which Harry Potter kid are you?
Which John Cusack are you?
Which They Might Be Giants album are you?

From the "Am I Just A Giant Freak Or What?" files, I raise the topic of lists. Not grocery or errand lists, I'm talking life lists -- the Things To Do Before You Die type of lists. Things I've Never Tried Before lists. Things To Do Before I Turn 30. Those lists.

I mentioned the idea of these lists to someone the other day and they looked at me like I was from another planet. I've been making those types of lists for six years now. I love them. In 1998, my fresh-scrubbed self made a list of things I had never done before and wanted to try out in the next year. It had things like "get a massage" and "drive a convertible" on it. I made little boxes next to the things so that I could tick them off when accomplished. Yes, it does run the risk of being a little on the Sark-y side. But putting something down on paper seemed to legitimize it, like a contract. Even if they're ridiculous things, knowing that there's an unchecked box next to a "to do" item can be awfully motivating.

And so it continued for many years. Some things keep getting transferred from one list to the next. The lists are always a combination of big goals ("pay off credit cards") and small ones ("try to drink more green tea"). Once I read that Elizabeth Hurley had always wanted to drive across the country alone before she turned 30 and suddenly that got added to the top of my list. What an awesome idea! I ticked that one off the list two years ago, although I only got as far as Minneapolis, but half way is better than not at all, eh?

I'm now in the process of putting together a Things To Do In Your 30s list. It's a little overwhelming. Suggestions welcomed over the next ten years.

For breakfast this morning I had a Go-Gurt. I find the whole concept of these things totally bizarre. Really, you're too busy to use a spoon? Really? Is yogurt really that time consuming of a food to eat in the first place?

So I tried finding some amusing web sites mentioning Go-Gurt and it was sorely lacking. Strike that. It pulled up 848,000 sites (God bless the Internet) but they were WEIRD or perverse or nutritionally related. No legitimate humor sites about this? What's wrong with our world?

This really has been my most active weekend in recent memory. Saw The Triplets of Belleville tonight. What an amazing film. Adorable. Hilarious. Adorable again.

I think the best part of it was a short film they showed at the beginning called Destino which was a collaboration between Salvadore Dali and Walt Disney. A-Freakin'-Mazing. It was bizarre and surreal and unlike anything you have literally ever seen before. My jaw dropped. My hand, filled with oily popcorn, was frozen in midair.

Clearly there's something to be said for this whole "leaving the house" idea.

I finished Dry by Augusten Burroughs this morning. Towards the end, there were actually tears streaming down my face. It was just. So. GOOD. Phew.

I sauntered out for a drive and ended up at Half Price Books which is always a happy place. At one point, looking through the writing guides section, I looked up towards the window and felt the sun on my face and felt like a warm happy kitty. Sunshine? In a bookstore? Is there anything better?

And then. It happened. These two girls, college aged, came up around me and they were talking in full outdoor voices. I was so annoyed. I guess I never paid attention to it, but I clearly have a rule against speaking in bookstores and certainly against using your OUTDOOR voice in them. It's like being in a library, people! Or church! This is a quiet space where people can reflect and read and escape and celebrate words. It's not for yammering on about your plans that night or your love of gothic fiction.

I scurried downstairs. MORE outdoor voices. Two older couples guffawing and chortling about running into each other. WON'T YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP? WE ARE IN A BOOKSTORE, PEOPLE!

Only saving factor was that I found the book on Sundance/Miramax that I was looking for in San Francisco. I am SUCH a bookstore geek.

Are there adequate words to describe how much I hate the suburbs?

I feel a little hypocritical ranting against suburbia because a.) I grew up in the suburbs and loved it and b.) What started this all in the first place was a self-imposed trip to the suburbs, so I guess I brought it all on myself.

So there I am. At a shopping center in the suburbs. On a Friday night. And first of all, I am struck by the sheer mass of humanity that is OUT at a shopping mall on a Friday night. Then it hits me that most of these people are under 20, which I don't see a lot of in my insular little hipster world. The teens, they are a changin'. They have more money than my parents and they look MEAN. So that's annoying.

As for the adults, everyone is out in their SUV/Minivan/Hummer wearing plush track suits pushing their $300 jogger strollers. I don't know why I find that so loathesome. No one is walking fast. Or driving fast. Everyone seems to be migrating towards the Claim Jumper for dinner.

There's no THERE there in suburbia -- I think that's my problem with it. It's all mass produced chain stores/restaurants with no imagination. The people start looking less like people and more like cattle. What pisses me off is that five years ago (or whatever) these people were, in all likelihood, hip singletons who lived in the city and went out after 9 p.m. and explored art and music and weird movies and here they are now in the burbs walking around the Sunglass Hut on a Friday night. It just seems a little defeated. And I'm there too, with them, so I can't judge.

But let's just say I breathe a sigh of relief after I cross over the water and back into the city with its homelessness and its litter and its lack of parking. I'm home.

As I continue to read about blogging and checking out cool blogs from which I can steal ideas -- oops, I mean gain inspiration from -- I have come across one of the more popular and successful blogs around -- Wil Wheaton Dot Net.

Yes, the guy from Star Trek. And Stand by Me. Yes, he blogs too! And it's a great site. He actually got a book published based on his blog which I need to check out if only so I can learn how to do it myself. Join Wil as he celebrates geek culture and hawks his wares.

You go with your blogging self, Wil Wheaton!

More frequently asked questions:

Q: Beth, I've been thinking of coming to Seattle for a visit. Why should I come there when I could spend my limited vacation time in, say, Belize at a yoga retreat or in Paris with an exotic lover?

A: Two reasons. The Washington Banana Museum and the World's Largest Frying Pan. Need I say more?

Hey Kids! It's time for Frequently Asked Questions!!

Q: Beth, again I have to point out that your blog clearly states that it features the adventures of Thomas the Wonder Cat, but I find those adventures to be sorely lacking. What's up with the freakin' wonder cat?

A.) Thomas continues to rage against the machine with his bad-ass orange self, but his adventures consist primarily of eating, bathing, pooping, barfing, snuggling, sleeping and purring. Perhaps "adventure" was a bit much to expect from this wonder cat.

However, you can catch up with additional, more adventurous wonder cats such as Sparky the Wonder Cat, Roscoe the Wonder Cat, and Misha the Wonder Cat. In fact, a search for "The wonder cat" online provides over 3,000 sites, which is both cool and slightly alarming.

Given yesterday's lengthy post about puttering and being housebound, I've decided to see what I could find about puttering on the good ol' Internet. In my search, I came across the Ladies Against Feminism site. There's an excellent description of puttering found here, but that whole idea really gets sidetracked once you get onto the site. This is one helluva group of ladies. Apart from the fact it goes against everything I stand for and believe in, this is a site worth spending a few minutes on. A few. Not too many.

For one, as much as I hate to say it, the site is intelligently written and it provides an incredible volume of resources and information which makes me give it a little credibility rather than making me immediately dismiss it as backwards conservative misogynistic bullshit.

For two, in the words of Voltaire, I may not agree with what you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.

For three, this is a terrific motivational tool to encourage proud, beautiful, powerful, intelligent feminists -- and that includes both women AND men, folks -- to donate money or time or resources to the National Organization for Women, Planned Parenthood, Emily's List or any other pro feminist organization. Get involved, be informed and know the issues!

Truly, my capacity for puttering around my apartment seems endless. February and March 2004 are going to be marked at the Months of Puttering. Sunday is drawing to a close and once again I've spent two days inside tidying up, reading and being general antisocial. I did leave briefly to go downstairs and pick up my mail and that was only because I knew I had Netflix movies waiting for me. Katusha will totally relate to this.

What's worse is that I'm generally pretty content about the state of my weekends. Downright happy about it. Fridays roll around and like everyone in the world I think about my weekend ahead...and truly nothing makes me happier than to have the next two days lay ahead of me with nothing planned, no one to see, no where to go. Where I know I can just shut my door, nestle inside and be cocooned for two solid days. Is that sad? Something to be concerned about?

It's not like I'm laying in bed drooling (okay, so I did that for a while) or watching bad TV informercials for a "6 Second Ab Machine" (okay, I did that too), I mean I'm cleaning, organizing, talking on the phone, reading, knitting -- doing stuff, it's just that it all seems to take me two straight days without leaving the building at all.

I don't think its about poor time management either. It's not that I'm unorganized -- as I mentioned, I spend two straight days getting organized --it's that I just don't have much of a desire to get out. So am I just lazy? Bored? Depressed? A victim of social anxiety? Maybe all -- or none -- of the above. To be certain, there is an element of apathy and disfunction required to nurture this type of behavior -- I just don't care about going out. It's not a priority, it's not particularly fun for me. When I am out at a bar or club I just feel removed and out of touch, as though I'm invading someone else's high school reunion. Maybe I'm just in a (really long) phase of my life where I need to be alone. Maybe I just enjoy solitude.

I have friends that are extraordinarily active (which isn't hard, compared to me), who go out 5, 6 nights a week. To whom a night in is the exception rather than the rule and for whom that one night in is usually just to do laundry to prepare for the week ahead. They're drinking at hip bars and going to shows until 2 in the morning on a weeknight, going to gallery openings and film retrospectives and living the Carrie Bradshaw life. And I sometimes wish my life was more like that -- it seems wasteful to be this young and this urban and to spend my weekends inside all day and all night. The alternative just doesn't feel right to me though, it feels more like work. Like you're working two jobs where one is your day job and the other is your night job which involves every bit as much preparation and coordination and relationship building and image management.

I didn't used to be like this, either. I used to make a point to go out every day, even if just to walk around Target for hours on end. Looking back though, it can argued that's how I got into credit card debt -- the hours of wandering through stores/restaurants/bars for lack of something better to do.

I'm overthinking. The night is young. There's more puttering to do while I have the chance.

I. Hate. My. Car. So. Much.

Driving home from work night, I noticed white smoke coming from the engine. What's next, flames? Locusts shooting out of the tail pipe? Oh wait, that's not possible because two weeks ago, my rusty tail pipe FELL OFF, officially placing me into white trash territory.

Nothing good can come of this. I'm feeling more and more like the little car needs to be put out of its misery. Surely being a downtown dweller I could survive without a car (let's not forget national biodiesel day, folks)? I could master the bus system and pretend I'm living in Europe, reading my New Yorker and/or hip paperback novel on the way to the market/cafe/art gallery. I could cab around town like the gals from Sex and the City.

Overidealize much, Beth?

I recently visited this Website with all sort of goofy daily holidays on it. Today, as I'm sure you're all aware, is: Absolutely Incredible Kid Day, Awkward Moments Day, Companies That Care Day, Forgive Mom and Dad Day, National Biodiesal Day and President Grover Cleveland's Birthday.

SOOOOOOO -- Here's to a day where we drive vegetable-oil powered cars to work, with our incredible kids, where we yell at them for not paying attention to what mommy's saying, making everyone around us feel embarrassed and awkward, only to have them forgive us later at the company barbeque for employee appreciation.

Spring in Seattle. Siiiiigh. The flowers are blooming, the sandals are poking their heads up in the shoe stores, the rest of the world is starting to talk about the "sun." Today its freezing and totally overcast and I'm wearing sweaters/coats with no end in sight. I feel like a pale, out of shape bear that is still in hibernation.

New Orleans is six weeks away and I would like to be 1.) tanner 2.) thinner 3.) blonder 4.) perkier by then. It's entirely achievable as well, there's ample time for a total spring makeover.

Okay. So I just re-read that sentence and I realize how much I sounded like a PR girl just then. I'm apologize to you all. The thing is, PR girls are brutal. For one, they all look the same and they are FIERCE with their highlights and their black suits and their glimmery eyeshadow and their trendy handbags. And the idea of going to a show where I'll be surrounded by hundreds of these women is...kind of...overwhelming/depressing/scary and it manages to destroy any sense of self esteem you might have. That's really the worst part of PR -- it really is all about image and appearance.

Heading to Gloss.com now to look for some shimmering makeup. I need to get into battle mode.

Ah, New Orleans. Looks like I'll be going back there for a trade show at the beginning of May and have also managed to tack a few vacation days onto the end of it. Go, Beth, Go! It will be good to relax for a few days and sit at Cafe Du Monde with my friend Stacy and people watch over beignets.

I have mixed feelings about New Orleans -- it's not my favorite city in the world, but much like Vegas its decadence lures you in and doesn't loosen its grip until you step onto the plane and head back towards home. I'd like to see more of it this time around, to see more than just the French Quarter and the convention center. Time for research!

God I love Augusten Burroughs. LOVE HIM. Last fall I read Running With Scissors and fell immediately for him. I started Dry this weekend and the madness over his writing continues.

I was flipping through the channels yesterday and stopped at BookTV on CSPAN because Neil Pollack was speaking at the Miami Book Fair. I had seen him speak a few years ago, but wouldn't have recognized him. Next up though! Augusten Burroughs! The audience looked like it was full of hipsters and cranky retired people and it was half full. Sad.

Is it wrong that I'm spending my weekends watching CSPAN and organizing pictures all day long?

Classic Beth weekend in which I start a project thinking it will only take an hour or so and it ends up sucking away the entire afternoon: I get it into my head to organize all of my photos chronologically. I took every picture I had out of the photo albums, threw them into a giant pile and then organized them once and for all into order.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking. They were 75 percent organized to begin with and that's far better than the rest of the world that keeps their pictures in a shoebox under the bed. But it's one of those projects that once you start, you can't give up half way through. After you've got 30 years of snapshots laying in a heap on your floor, there's really only one way out.

So I sat for three hours staring at vacation pictures and asking myself "Okay, was this trip to San Francisco in 1998 or 1997?" Siiiiigh.

I have to say, however, it was immensely enjoyable. Kind of amusing that after everything got filed and organized, there were about 10 pictures that I couldn't place anywhere. Most were of the cat...I mean, it's tough to determine if a picture of Thomas on my floor is from 1999 or the summer of 2000, you know? Some were of generic beach shots. Could have been Italy. Or Seattle. Or anywhere.

Time for a long bath and then to bed. The week looms ahead of me.

Good, good things:

1.) Two cosmopolitans and the lettuce wedge with blue cheese at Sam's Steakhouse on Eastlake. I feel a little self conscious sipping a cosmo after Sex and the City made them so trendy, but DAMMIT they're good. Sam's brings them to you in a tall glass with ice and strains it at the table. They're hot hot pink and cooooool goin' down. It's not a hipster type place for drinks, but they're always nice and accomodating and there's a giant patio for sunny nights.

2.) Finally starting my laminated list. After two cosmos, Beth found a newfound determination to create the perfect laminated list of men. So far:

* Hugh Grant
* Robbie Williams
* Phillip Seymour Hoffman

Okay, it's not complete. Have to find a copy of People magazine or something. Suggestions? Who am I missing?

Swear to GOD its another one of those two-left-feet kind of days. Can't do anything right to save my life. Siiiiiiigh.

Make. Peeps. In. Your. Own. Home. With this! Head to Peepsville here for more information than you ever thought possible about the peepalicious world of Peeps. Need I say more?

Actually, yes I do.

While I'm on the topic of Easter candy, I also need rave about these funky Hershey's Swoops candy thingys. Despite a really, REALLY annoying TV commercial, these things are incredible. Shaped like Pringles, but made of Reese's/Hershey's/Almond Joy/etc. Something about the texture and shape just works PERFECTLY. All too addictive.

I have decided -- once and for all -- that I am going to do the Race For the Cure this year. I have signed up for this event twice since moving to Seattle and just never followed through with it. Race day would come and go and I would just sit in my apartment thinking "Dang, I should really be there now..."

It's on June 6, 2004 and I'll be registering this weekend. I'll put a link up with my pledge sheet (that is, if I can figure out how) so that all of y'all that are interested can drop a few bucks my way.

So today is Labour Day and "Eight Hours Day" in Australia and Tasmania, according to my World Wildlife Federation calendar. You can read more about both holidays here. According to this site, "The Eight Hours Movement had its beginnings in the maxim of British socialist, Robert Owen who believed an ideal life was based on 'eight hours labour, eight hours rest and eight hours recreation'."

Kind of makes you think about how your current day is divided up, eh? I for one can say an 8 hour work day is sadly a thing of the past, and I certainly don't get 8 hours of recreation in every day. I can however totally confirm the 8 hours of sleep each day...often many more.

I want to try and focus more on the idea of balance -- to stop looking at work and play as diametrically opposed forces. They're both a necessity in life, like it or not. Part of the balance idea is to embrace both work (which I feel I've been slacking on) and play. And then also engage in a good 3 hour nap every now and then to nurture the sleep part.

Cranky. Bitchy. Annoyed. Bored. Restless.

Pick one, pick a few -- they're all describing me today. Can't even really say why, but I'm just in a foul mood. I've been in hermit mode again this weekend, which is FINE -- but then around six tonight I decided to leave the house and return some books to the library and what happens again but the old temperature gauge on my car heads up to the H level. Made it home safely...all was well, but it just added to my pissiness.

I felt like a whiny little kid all afternoon -- I was bored but didn't know what I wanted to do so I just stomped around the house feeling bored and angry because there wasn't anything to do.

And can I mention that my cat has -- for lack of a better word -- the sniffles? Do cats get colds?

Siiiigh. Here's to hopefully a better week ahead...

A nice leisurely Saturday. Nothing planned. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. Was awakened at 8:41 in the morning by an "unknown" caller which means a telemarketer, which means....grrrrrr.

I have finished HP Number Five which means the obsession can move to the back burner and I can get back to reading "real" books. Think I'm going to spend the afternoon knitting and getting some progress done on another scarf. Does this officially make me a weird 80 year old cat lady trapped in a 30 year old body?

Saw Peices of April today and thoroughly enjoyed it. However, I found it hard to buy Katie Holmes as a former druggie/abusive/runawaydaughter -- not with those soulful giant doe eyes from Dawson's Creek! -- and even harder to believe that Oliver Platt was supposed to be her suburban dorky FATHER. I think that stems more from the fact that I have a giant crush on Oliver Platt and it disturbs me that he's being cast as someone's DAD. We is all gettin' older, clearly.

An open letter to Harry Potter:

DAMN YOU, HARRY POTTER! Damn you for being so darned addictive and entertaining! Damn you for taking my notions about popular fiction -- popular CHILDREN'S fiction at that -- and turning it on its head.

Since meeting you just a short month ago, I can't get enough of you. I spend my weekends reading about you. My eyes hurt because I read all day long about you and your wacky adventures. Today, Harry, I read that JK Rowling might publish an eighth book about you and I was GIDDY. Giddy, Harry.

This is most unlike me. I am usually the biggest book snob in the known universe. I sneer at people (I imagine I look at like Snape with I do this) in airports with their mass market paperbacks and take joy in curling up with the latest in comtemporary literary fiction.

But Harry, you've changed all of that. I've fallen victim to your charms. I am a victim of Pottermania and I cannot read about your adventures fast enough.

I thank you for showing me the joy in popular fiction and the benefits of jumping aboard a literary bandwagon, albeit about several years after the rest of the universe has.

I remain yours -- a loyal and devoted Muggle reader in Seattle.

Feelin' smug because I have worked out THREE DAYS IN A ROW. It hasn't really transformed me into a supermodel, but it's the thought and the effort that counts, right?
I'm using these tapes from Leslie Sansone, which are helpful because I'm very clumsy and they don't involve a lot of coordination. You're pretty much just marching in place.

Also, my lovely friend Lizzy has shared some Weight Watchers recipe cards from 1974 that are hilarious. Enjoy.

I love the BBC's The Office so freakin' much. It's subtle, it's cruel, it's British. It mocks employee training sessions.

First off, it takes place in a paper company in Slough. Which is amusing because several years ago I was on a 3-week business trip in England and got to spend some time in Slough. It's not real glamorous. (Okay, so it felt super posh and glamorous to me because I was in England, but that's beside the point. I'm sure if I lived there permanently it would be like working in Tacoma.

Second off, I have forgotten what it's like to work in a big company. Maybe that's for the best.


RENT IT NOW.

So last week I was assigned this project at work. Which I completed. And today I found out I totally missed the boat on the project and clearly didn't do it correctly or adequately.

It's the old "sometimes you're the windshield and sometimes you're the bug" type of day.

I feel all squashed down and small.