Can I even emphasize the self control it took NOT to buy this book today -- The Malcontents: The Best Bitter, Cynical and Satirical Writing in the World? I mean, how perfect is that for me? I'm feeling smug because I had the good sense to realize that two days away from a major move I am likely not going to have the time or energy to read Voltaire and Twain, even if they are brilliant and bitter.

Well now THIS is interesting...a Netflix type set up for designer handbags at Bag Borrow or Steal. Not sure how necessary it is to rotate out a Prada handbag for a Fendi every couple of weeks, but then again I guess that's part of the fun.

Keys to new place are coming this weekend...now I can sit in the middle of my empty new floor and gaze at the possibilities.

Can I get a show of hands from anyone who's ever totally LOST IT at work and started blubbering in front of their boss like a ridiculous little girl? Cause...I mean...well...not that I've ever done that. That would be totally humiliating, right? I'm just asking because I'm....curious, okay? Oh nevermind.

Clearly a looooong relaxing vacation is in order, which brings me to Guava magazine, this funky fresh find I found for independent women travelers. Go Guava!

Oh, and a GIANT happy birthday to MY MOM, who will likely never read or experience this blog. Still, I'd like to send good vibes her way today, even if she doesn't know it -- sometimes those are the best kind.

Duuuuuudes, the View-Master is 65 this year. 65! Does that make you feel old or what? They have gotten quite high tech since last I remember them...check 'em out.

Strange (or comforting...or something...) to see that Winnie the Pooh is still a hot seller even 25 years after little Bethy stared into her own clunky red View-Master with Pooh and Piglet. Props for this reel, which features "Rescue Heroes" with a rather hunky looking fireman on it.

Oh, and for those spelling geek kids out there, I bring you the virtual Speak 'N Spell!

 

On my bus to work today someone actually said to the driver, "Hey, did you know there's a pigeon on this bus?" And sure enough, there was -- just sitting on the floor catching a ride to the Westlake Station.

I have to think this forecasts a strange day ahead. How could a bus-riding pigeon not?

Think I am losing it. Just found out I am not going to be able to move for another week and a half. This is my own fault for packing everything up so far in advance. I look around and all I see are boxes. More boxes. I miss my stuff. I miss knowing where everything is. I'm tired of reaching for something and realizing "Oh right, that thing you never use that you thought you could pack away? The thing you now need right this minute? It's gone, honey."

I have no food because -- again everything is in boxes and why buy food when you're moving in a few days....except....now I need serious food because I can't live on dry cereal and bottled tarragon for the next ten days. WAAAAAAH. Moving sucks.

Almost feeling human again after 100 degree weather yesterday. That was unreal. Couldn't move. Couldn't pack. Couldn't blog. Just laid in bed with the fan going full blast for most of the day feeling sweaty and salty and nasty.

Did have to get my behind up and out for a lovely wedding that was quite fun and felt comfort in the fact that at least I didn't have to -- heh heh -- wear a lacy taffeta wedding gown in the mid-day sun all day.

Watched Celebrity Poker last night that featured the cast of Arrested Development. Love the show, love Jason Bateman, but dang if it wasn't snoooooozeville to watch them play poker for an hour. No witty banter -- no hilarious hijinks? David Cross had a few random and weird comments, but that was the extent of it.

I think it all could have been veeeery different if they had the guy that plays Baxter and Liza Minnelli (those two MAKE the show) pony up to the bar.

Also, what is Dave Foley DOING on this show? So much talent and he's spending his time talking to Hank Azaria about a straight flush? And can someone please tell me who the heck is Peter Facinelli and why is he on every single episode of celebrity poker?

Happy Birthday to yet another one of my junior high friends that enters into the thirtysomething experience today -- Have a fabulous day, Momma! May you find a single orange construction cone on an abandoned street in the middle of the night and saw it in half with the people you love!

On another note, I haven't slept a solid night in three days because of moving anxiety. Head hurting. Dark circles looming under eyes. Wheeeee!

 

Time once again for Frequently Asked Questions!

Q: Are there any good drinking games that I can play while watching Dawson's Creek?

A: Yes. I suggest that you set yourself up with a few episodes, your beverage of choice and take a drink whenever:

* Anyone uses the term "soul mate."
* Dawson touches his enormous forehead.
* A person crawls into Dawson's bedroom window.
* Anyone cries. Bonus sip if this person is Dawson.
* Grams says "Oh, Jennifah!" Bonus three sips if Jen replies back with "Dammit Grams! I don't want your judgment, I just want your understanding!"
* Pacey speaks in his really really bad Bawstan accent.
* Joey tucks her hair behind her ears and bites her lip and looks worried.
* Mr. Leery, AKA Meathead, is on screen. Five extra sips if Gail "Deep Conditioning Hair Treatment" Leery is on with Meathead. You'll need it to numb the pain.

I think you'll find yourself very happy by the end of the episode.

Anyone who knows me knows about my love of napping. I can block out a good 2-3 hours on a Saturday afternoon curled up in bed, snoozing away in perfect bliss. Which is why the folks at Metronaps are after my own heart -- napping stations for mid-afternoon escapes? Hello?

I rarely find myself in the Empire State Building is the main problem...and they're designed for 20 minute "power naps" which any professional napper worth her salt will tell you is totally worthless. Still, an interesting concept -- props to ljcfyi for the tipoff.

Okay Nordstrom Shoe Guy, I get it. I have big feet. Don't look at me with that snippy pursed mouth of yours and sneer that you don't carry those cute Steve Madden mules with the kitten heels in my size.
 
I mean, I was just askin'. No need for the attitude. I'll be taking my giant feet online where I'll shop without the 'tude.

Let's give a big ol' mature thirtysomething Happy Birthday to my friend Raquel Rashell, who leaves her twenties behind her today. Hope you TEAR THROUGH the years with laughter and joy and good good stuff.
 
Have a fabulous day, girl -- you deserve the best. Welcome to the old lady club.
 
 

Happy, happy day. As I was scurrying around doing errands today, I found myself absolutely obsessed with finding a bowl of Pho soup. Had to have it. Would die if I didn't have it. That type of craving.
 
I recalled about a year ago I had gone to this little restaurant in a strip mall when I was coming down with a foul, foul headcold. Sniffling and shaking and feverish, I ordered the soup...handed over my debit card and was told you had to buy at least $10 worth before you could use a card. I think I started crying. I definitely lost it. All I know is that the guy took pity on me and let me pay without the minimum.
 
So I returned to my little strip mall place, happy to give this nice guy my business again and satisfying the craving all at the same time, plus adding in a little squid with garlic sauce to the deal. DELISH!

Dear Caregiver Whom I Occassionally Reward With Snuggles:

Are you dense or something? That cheap-ass Safeway-brand cat food SUCKS. I mean, it really really SUCKS and that's coming from an animal that licks his own behind. You seriously couldn't have spent the extra three or four dollars for the Whiskas that I so much prefer? Have I offended you somehow?

Look, I've got my pride. I don't like having to meow and stare up at you pleadingly every single time you go into the kitchen in hope that you'll get the hint and toss out this foul cardboard masquerading as "food." But I've also got my huge hairy orange belly to look after. And sister, it's shrinking up from the crappy food.

I deserve better.

Sincerely,
Thomas the Wonder Cat, AKA Mr. Snuggle Bear, AKA Little Buddy, AKA Schmoopie, AKA Bunny Bun Bun

Isabel "Weezie Jefferson" Sanford died on Monday. I not distraught or anything, but it's still sad. She actually had a pretty interesting career outside of The Jeffersons.

It's also sad when you mention to someone that Weezie died and they reply back, "Sorry, I think that was before my time," making you feel about a billion years old. This aging thing, man, it hits you had strange times.

Damn but I do love David Sedaris. His latest essay collection made me laugh so hard tonight that my purifying oceanic clay mask cracked into a million tiny peices.

Grudges are funny things. You carry them around with you for years and years, like precious little gems. You cling so desperately to them, holding them near and dear to you out of fear, out of a desire not to get hurt again. And it's often not until you let go of them that you realize how much those little grudges have weighed you down.

Lesson learned: Sometimes you have to just bury the hatchet and leave it behind you. It's just not worthy carrying around all the time.

Okay, so I may have gotten a little overzealous about Jam Fest. While I did indeed make more than a dozen beautiful pots of strawberry and raspberry jam, there is still an entire half flat of blackberries and blueberries sitting in my fridge awaiting....something. A pie? A cobbler? Muffins?

I need to think of something and fast -- the only problem is that I out-Martha-ed myself with the jam and I'm in no mood to cook anything for a while now. Hmmmm. Time to consult some cookbooks...

Damn, but if our culture just can't get enough garden gnomes these days. Those little suckers are EVERYWHERE and I guess that's not a bad thing. Or is it?

If you feel strongly that gnomes should be liberated, go here.

If you'd rather just experience a new gnome every day, go here.

Get on down with your bad gnome-y selves now...

Preparing for Jam Fest 2004 this weekend, where I'm going to hunker down with about 100 pounds (kidding!) of fresh blackberries, raspberries and strawberries and attempt to make about a billion pots (maybe not kidding!) of jam.

Will you be one of the Chosen Few to receive a souvenier from Jam Fest 2004? I'm not against taking bribes of coffee and/or beer from the locals to see if I can't get you up on the list.

Thanks to LJC for her easy instructions on how to make jam here.

So this is depressing -- book reading is apparently becoming a lost art in America. A report by the NEA finds that Americans (surprise surprise) aren't big readers -- it finds that less than half of us read literature in 2002.

This saddens me. I admit I'm an enormous book geek -- I'm passionate about books and words and language and punctuation. Talk to me about the semicolon and I'll get all shivery. Books and writing are intrinsically part of who I am and how I experience the world. A life without books in it is just...empty in my eyes.

I once had a friend who, when looking at my overstuffed bookshelves, comment that she'd rather live certain experiences rather than just read about them. That's fine, I guess. But for me reading about experiences and living them are closely intertwined. Literature chronicles our lives, our cultures and our experiences -- it makes the world a more fantastic and imaginative place to live, which in turn helps us to view and experience it in different ways never before possible.

I'm buckin' the trend. I'm a rebel with a literary cause. I'm heading to a bookstore this weekend and doing my part to get between the pages of a good novel.

Hold the phones. Hold everything. BREAKING NEWS ALERT!

While I have yet to confirm this personally in the stores, I have been alerted by Concerned Blog Reader #590-J that they are reintroducing PUDDING POPS. This is huge, people!

X-Entertainment, an amusing site on its own, profiles my beloved and long-lost pops here.

Falling asleep on top of my laptop. Six a.m. flights SUCK SO MUCH. Might very well be in bed by before 8 tonight.

Panic has started to set in about moving. To counter this, I'm debating about doing a giant strawberry/raspberry jam-fest this weekend. I've not been very Martha-like lately. Too tired to think about it now though.

My eyes hurt. ZZZZZZZZZZ.

Things that are good to do when visiting the homestead:

The popcorn shrimp platter at Red Lobster
Go check out the fancy new Wal-Mart
Stroll by the creek you once waded in as a child
Ice cream cones near said creek
Two words: The Mall
Iron Chef on the Food Network (theme: Giant 9-pound Lobster)

Trip to Denver was good, but remind me again why I selected flights that leave at 6 a.m.? A few observations/suggestions about the people I've seen on flights during this trip:

* No animal-themed clothing, people. Ever. I don't care how much you like deer/wolves/kittens/horses, if you're over the age of 12 you don't get to wear them on your clothes.

* Enough with the tapestry luggage already. That goes double for the woman with the tapestry luggage with kittens on it.

* If you see a group of attractive upstanding college-aged guys wearing suits in the airport at Salt Lake City, remember the old rule that "it's probably too good to be true." Sure enough there were more than a dozen Jehovah's Witnesses on the flight.

Good News/Bad News about moving:

The good news is obvious -- it's a new place, new scenary, new neighbors, a fresh beginning.

The bad news, especially when one moves into a smaller place, is that one becomes overwhelmed and freaked out over the massive amounts of sheer crap that accumulates over the years.

The good news about that is that the crap accumulation (CA) leads to a massive purging and dumping of said possessions. Which, if one is thinking positively, will lead to a feeling of tranquility and zen-like simplicity. Maybe. Sort of.

I have to get to Goodwill before this ideal little fantasy wears off and I want to become reunited with 20 boxes of knick knacks.