Science class should not end in tragedy.

I love the Simpsons.

OK, so I'm back from my extended winter vacation. I really can't wait to sleep in my own bed again. I'm housesitting again, my lot in life, and I haven't been home in almost two weeks. I'm getting bored of all of this. I need to go home!! So, following is a short transcript of what happened during my trip. I only kept a few days worth of stuff, but I want to keep it somewhere, so now it's here. K?

23 December 2001

First of all, I must record this dream:

What I remember starts in a park in a city with skyscrapers surrounding it. It is heavily wooded. In one corner is a Shell gas station. I am running from giant apes in battle gear. They are hunting me down. (Give me a break here. I watched the remake of Planet of the Apes with Marky Mark last night...well not with him in the room, I wish. It was his remake.) Then I end up in the basement of a building where they crushed boxes. I am leaping up platforms à la Lara Croft when I hear KS and Matabang Kalabaw arguing. I try to hide, but MK finds me. She asks me what kind of document management system to use. I respond that Documentum was the only reasonable choice, satisfied that I have finally convinced her. Then she asks me about classes I am taking at university. I tell her I am in Buffalo (or it could have been Elephant) Hall.

Then I'm in front of the hall itself. I am running from a group of kids. I leave the campus trying to find somewhere to hide. After they pass, I leave my hiding place in an alley and start to run again. I think, "let me see if I can fly again." So I jump up and hold my body level with the ground, and sure enough, I fly down the street. It is a couple of miles before I land, and it is exhilarating. I stop on a bridge overlooking a lake-shore drive. I bump up against the railing to stop myself, and I hear RJ's voice in my head chiding me for such a sloppy landing. I turn around to see the very tall hill that I flew down. "That's where I came from," I marvelled looking up the hill.

Then I find myself in Liz's apartment. She married a wealthy man who had a nice apartment in the city. There are other people around me, one of whom is Angelica Huston who is naked doing some embroidery. Both she and Liz tell me that it would be OK if am naked, too, because at least then they will know I am not lying about anything. So we gather around her vast dining room table to embroider some more. I am given a section of pre-printed cloth. I am arguing with an old man at the table about whether I need scissors. I am adamant that I do not, and he tells me that to look at the design on the cloth. It is Howards End. I hear Liz's husband return, and I get up to put my clothes back on, and then I woke up.

So, now I'm at SFO, close to 6 a.m. I was three hours early and the lines inside are a mess. So I checked my bag at the curb, and here I am. I hope it makes it to my plane.

Buddy and Rosie fought and killed a raccoon the other night. They were pretty mangled up, both with cuts on their faces and front paws. Rosie had part of her ear bitten off and her left eye gashed. Now she's got built-in attitude. I feel bad for them, but they're by heroes because they killed the fucker. I hate raccoons.

plus tard

So, now I'm in the hometown. My mom's got a condo now, and it's a little weird. It's a nice place, but it's weird that I'm not staying in the house I grew up in...someone else is.

The flight from SFO to STL was first class ghetto. First of all, it was American with service by TWA. (I didn't know they merged.) Then, and I totally forgot about this, they only served a banana muffin, a cup of applesauce, and a mini-carton of orange juice that was completely frozen. I forgot that they had to cut back on their food budget because of the financial woes. Well, excuse me, but if I had known that, I would have gladly chosen to pay a little more on the plane ticket to get more than a damn muffin! The stewardesses (not good enough for "flight attendant" status) were pushy, loud, and rude. The flight was three and a half hours that felt like all day. STL to CID was much more enjoyable, only I had to endure an hour of high school reunion chit chat. Sat next to a cutie though. And he was looking.

I must sound like a bitch always having to "endure" those around me, but I'm just a private person who keeps to himself, and would hope that others would respect those wishes. Too much to ask? Trouble with that is that now I don't know how to act around other people, namely my own family. I have lost all of my social skills. J and I seem to have an unspoken understanding that we don't need to talk to each other constantly. Whatever. I am so tired.

Read Bloodsucking Fiends on the plane today, in its entirety. Farcical and humorous. Would have laughed only I was on a plane full of (uptight) strangers, and that would have been over the top.

25 December 2001

Joyeux fucking Noël!

What was it I said about having to endure people? Well, it applies to family equally. My little nephew is a brat. Can't stand him. Is that mean or what? But it's true. He whines and cries and it's just annoying. What a waste of a trip. Then my lovely b-i-l decides that he doesn't want to go to Chicago, so my spineless sister says that none of them will go. How fucking festive. It's not like I live across town or something. I probably won't be back for another four years and this is what I get.

My mother asked me if I thought Iowa was redneck. I never thought about it before, but after "careful" consideration, I would have to say that my jury is still out. Gotta get up, gotta get up, gotta get out of this place.... Now where did I put those dolls?

28 December 2001

And so it ends. This is my last night. Wednesday we stayed home all day and watched the tube. My darling wonderful sister gave me her cold, and added to the stress of flying and the extreme climate change (um, excuse the fuck out of me, but it was um, fifteen fucking degrees fahrenheit all week!!), I've been sick all week. Congested, coughing, fevers...and the dreams! I have the most intense and bizarre dreams when I'm sick. I'm feeling much better now, although my voice is still pretty gone.

Drove to Chicago on Thursday. That was nice. Spent the night. Aunt ME's 50th birthday. It was cool to see everyone again, and I don't know when I'll see them all after this. Possibly in July for the DIA thing, if RJ lets me.

Driving on the interstate with all the trucks made me horny something awful. There are some nice trucks out there, and some cute guys driving them. I have always wanted to do that, and now I don't know if it's a dream or a fantasy.

So I'm flying home tomorrow afternoon. What a long obnoxious day that will be.

So now, I'm housesitting. I got home late on Saturday. I had a three-hour layover in St. Louis. Gawd, don't ever get stuck doing that. Then it was a four-hour flight to SFO. And on this flight, all I got was a soda. No chips, no pretzels, just a soda. Thanks ever so.

When I got to SFO, I had to wait an extra hour before I could get my bags back. The baggage carousel was jammed for a half hour before anyone figured it out. Then I had to wait until it was fixed. In-com-pe-tent.

Sunday, I took R&W&P to the airport. They went to San Diego for New Year's. They flew out of OAK. So I got to drive the new Range Rover, in the rain, but it was really nice. Nice car. Love that.

Monday, it didn't rain, it was sunny and kinda warm, so I thought I would take the Miata into the City to get my mail. Put the top down and drove into Colma to BART in. I put the top back up, and in doing so, I got the back window zipper stuck. It wouldn't close. So, instead of leaving the car with a window open at Colma and driving into the City, I put the top back down, turned around, and went back to the vista point at 280 again. I'm so lame. What difference would it make? Whatever. I'm glad I did though. I met this really nice guy there. His name is Kenn (two n's), and he took me back to his office in Redwood City for a quick fuck. No one else was at his office so it was easy...as easy as I am. He's a babe, why would I pass it up? Then he took me on a brief tour of Atherton and the house he's buying there, and all of the neighbors' houses, too. I didn't know if he was bragging or making it all up, but he seemed genuine, and he had the keys to the house, so I'm guessing that he was real. He lives in San Jose now, and he's giving up seven acres for two and a half in Atherton. OK.

So, I drove the car back, I love that thing. It's a '92 which is why it has the plastic back window. The new ones don't. I am definitely getting me one of the new ones, blue please. How can you not love a convertible in California when it only rains one or two months out of the year? Anyway, I was really freaking out. I tried to get the window to zip up, but it was jammed in one place. I knew it was going to rain hard that night, so I freaked. I pulled so hard on the damn zipper, I have blisters on my finger. Loooong story short, I finally got the damn thing shut, and it's all fine and dandy. Just don't tell anyone. I have been given free rein over their house and cars, and I want them to continue to think that I'm competent and responsible.

Why is this so damn long?

So now it's Wednesday, the second day of 2002. They're all coming home tonight. I'm not going home until Thursday night.

That's all.

Jaime

OK, so I'm driving to Fry's on 680 when I see a car speed up behind me. I go to merge over so the car can pass—I'm a very courteous driver—but I didn't have a chance because the car moved over and drove up beside me. I looked over quickly to see a man who appeared to be jumping around in his seat. He was waving at me and then began honking his horn. Oh. My. God. I know this guy! And OMG I am so sorry for him.

He's this guy I met at Aquatic Park in Berkeley (before I got kicked out forever). His name...well, it might be rude for me to release his name...but he doesn't believe in computers (sic) and probably won't see this. OK, so his name is Jaime, he's 40, lives with his parents in Antioch, doesn't have sex (or at least any sort of intercourse that involves any bodily orifice, even with protection), only kisses—and with no tongue—and dances Flamenco at his church. He found me at the park and was drooling over my cool and limpid green eyes. He wanted to cuddle with and kiss me. I'm sorry, but it was just a little odd, so I had to turn him down. I think he even made reference to his mother making us breakfast. ICK!!

¡¡ICK!!

So, he accosted me whenever he saw me at the park. And I guess the police's "request" that I not return (to put it lightly) saved me from Jaime until today. So, I'm driving 75 m.p.h. down 680, and he wants me, motions for me to pull over on the side of the road. Um, no thanks, maybe next time.

Not one to give up easily, he gets behind me and follows me to Fry's. How fucking obnoxious. I get out of my car in the parking lot and see him running over to me from his car.

"Hi! Wow! It's been a long time since I've seen you! What are you up to? You look great!"

"Uh, Jaime, why did you follow me here?"

"I thought we could sit and chat. Wow, how lucky this is."

Jaime reminds me of Andy Dick's character, Matthew, on the now-defunct but ever hilarious News Radio. He's quirky and geeky, and I'm starting to feel sorry for him. But fuck it. I'm a bitch. No sorrow. No pity. And no, Jaime, I don't want to try your mother's huevos rancheros, thanks anyway.

I made my excuses and went towards the store. He shook my hand and said to call him. When I returned to my car, I saw a homemade business card with his phone number on it. "Call me! Please!" it said. Oh dear, I replied.

That's all.

Yeah, I know...

...I'm lame, what can ya do?

I don't have much to say. I've been busy with this work-at-home thing and all of the meetings at the clients. It's not what I thought it would be, that's for sure. It is a big change from having a cubicle in an office building that has a dozen conference rooms for meetings with other people. I've been logging a lot of time in my car, and I just hope it keeps up with me.

I think I'm going to keep it for a while. I could probably afford to buy the car of my dreams right now, but I have one that works just fine, and aside from a few spots of rust, it looks pretty good. I'm getting new speakers finally. I have one in the back that works, and frankly, that's just not enough to hear Linda Wertheimer's voice reading the news. I put it off for ever, but now I've got four new ones coming. That ought to make a difference.

Plus I bought a flash-BIOS card for this legacy PC. It was thirty bucks, and this way I can get the damn thing to recognize the 20 GB hard drive that's there. What a silly way to run computers. Why did anyone put a limit of how much hard disk space the computer could use? That seems so narrow-minded. Oh well.

Next job is to upgrade my Mac 7500 AV. I've got my eye on the parts, and it's a matter of time before I've got myself a pretty cool machine. But do you really care about my geek indulgence?

That's about it.

Is this wrong or is it just me?

I can't decide. Click me.

Ah, the weekend.

Yet another fun-filled, exciting adventure on my free weekend.

I didn't have much work to do, so I took off. I got my new stereo and speakers on Friday, so I set off in search of a last minute installation. I called around Oaktown and the (L)East Bay, and the soonest appointment I could get would be Wednesday. Nope, I can't wait that long. So then I found a shop in Napa who was able to fit me in. So I drove up to Napa. Two and a half hours later, I had a brand new CD player and four brand new speakers installed. Wow is all I can say. It's awesome, even in my old VW. Why did I wait this long to do that?

Then it was 4:00 p.m. I headed farther north for Guerneville. I was staying at the Russian River Resort for the night. I hadn't done that before, and why the hell not? I'm a little fed up with the Watergarden. Poseurs. I got lost long the way—it really is backwoods, you know, two-lane highway, the whole bit. I finally made it there by 7:00 p.m.

Nice room, upstairs, partial view of the bar and the deck. The deckside/poolside rooms would have been better. I futzed around for a while. Cable TV kept me occupied until I decided to pluck up the courage and venture off to the hot tub—the cruising ground—where clothing is optional. It was 12:30 a.m. and there were five of us. A few minutes later, the drunk (that's the best and nicest way to describe him) left, and then there were four. And then there were hands groping under that water. And then there were feet probing submerged sweet spots.

And then they kicked us out and shut off the pool. Two remaining hunks and I took our private party back to my room to finish the night. S and K were "blessed." They were passionate, rugged men who like to play. S finished before we (K and I) did and left very soon after. So K and I spent the next hour and a half exploring each other. It ended in a giant eruption of masculinity, and then K left. I smoked a ciggie-poo and pooped out.

The next morning, Sunday, on 101 south, listening to Cher's latest and greatest, which it really is, I smelled smoke. So I pulled over to take a look. Sure enough, I wasn't being paranoid this time. There was smoke coming from the left rear wheel. At first I thought it was the damn muffler again. I thought it had fallen loose and was rubbing against the wheel. So I called AAA for a tow. In less than fifteen minutes—record time—a truck picked me up and took me to the Midas in Novato. Of course, they're closed on Sunday, so I was stranded there. Even the fucking Denny's in that one-horse (but quaint and lovely) town was closed on Sunday! What's that about?

I called J, and he thought it might be a wheel bearing. That's much worse than the muffler, and I don't think Midas fixes wheel bearings. In any case, I had to leave (read: abandon) my car in Novato over night, and I had to find a way home. Then I remembered that Golden Gate Transit has service this far north. So I hopped on bus number seventy and headed back to the City. It was a nice ride, directly over the Golden Gate Bridge which helped to calm my frayed nerves. Car trouble always does this to me. I can't fix cars anymore than I can boil water, so it always stresses me way out when I have something major like this happen.

But now I'm depressed as well as stressed out. I passed a big rig before my calamity, and he waved at me. It was neat. He was cute and friendly looking. I keep thinking of that truck because he passed me when I was on calling AAA. I don't know why that depresses me so. I feel humiliated that I had to leave my car behind in some little town sixty miles away. I don't care about the muffler or wheel. I am angry that I don't have my car near me. I guess it's true in my case, that Californians really cherish their automobiles. And there it stands.

That's all.

Luck is on my side...

...today, and only today.

I called the Midas people this morning about the car. The guy, Scott, said that it definitely was the wheel bearings and that the car could be ready this afternoon, and all for a whopping cost of about $300. Woo fucking hoo like you wouldn't believe. He replaced both wheel bearings in both wheels—apparently, there are two in each wheel, an inny and an outty. What the fuck ever, don't lecture me on the mechanics. Just let me go and get my car...tomorrow.

So I'm "at work," finishing up some template crap. And tomorrow morning or so, RJ will drive me up to Novato to pick up the lovely. I just hope it works.

When I called Scott, he either could tell that I was a stressy queen, or else he—and the rest of Northern California—was just smoking some serious weed. He's all, "don't worry, dude, we'll take care of it." I got the impression that I was too wired for him, or something, like people out of even the suburbs of the central Bay Area are so laid back that they can't be bothered by anything like a broken car. "So it's broken, we'll fix it, don't worry about it." OK, dude I'll take your advice. I don't know, Scott sounds kinda cute, and he has that little lisp to his voice that indicates potential. Whatever, I am so not looking for a man. OK?

RJ is peering over my shoulder so I must go now.

That's all.

Tuesday

Boy, RJ was pissy last night. I went home after all. He hadn't had any sleep the night before and took it out on everyone around him. Mr. Cranky Pants. So, I left not wanting to be party to that mess for the whole night. I took the bus back up to Novato this morning. Northern California is so different from the Bay Area. I mean, I guess it's technically the North Bay which is part of the Bay Area, but I don't think about it like that. Anyway, I sat on the bus with two "kids" behind me. The girl asked the guy if he had any pot on him. He said yes. She asked if she could buy it off him for $10. Yeah, no prob, he replied. And then they started talking about smoking and drinking and how her boyfriend was in jail but they wouldn't let her see him for a day or something. It was such a different conversation than anything I had ever heard in Oakland or even San Francisco—except the jail stuff, I hear that on BART all the time. They were all nonchalant about swapping the pot for the cash, like everyone up there does it...and what did I say yesterday?

So I got my car, and it is just beautiful. I love that thing. The muffler sounds great, and I'm so happy. Scott at Midas was short and cute...and married with children. He had a darling picture of his daughter and soccer pictures of his son behind the counter. He was real friendly like, too. I guess that's just the different culture up there. I could get used to people being nice to people because they're people, you know?

That's all.

Do you have an appointment?

I don't have much to say today. I was working with Alice for most of it, and by golly, that sweet woman is just about as taxing on my nerves as one can get without being blatant about it. So, at 1:30 this afternoon, I took off in my feels-like-new car and drove around listening to Cyndi Lauper shine shine shine. I love her. And driving 80 mph down I-580 listening to Cyndi Lauper on a warm, sunny January afternoon is just what I needed to purge my achy brain of Alice. Poor Alice.

That's all. Really.

Go ask Alice...

So. Let's just say that I've been busy. I've worked more in the last two months as a contractor than I have in the last two years as an FTE at the pharma. Go figure. 'S Ok. I like it. I am now learning how to program macros in Microsoft Word. How impressive, yes, I know.

And I have been having the most bizarre dreams. But I won't relate them here simply because they are now too old for me to recount accurately and they've kinda lost my interest. Whatever. I was talking to J about my dreams. He never likes to hear my dreams, and I never understood why. They're stories after all. But then I was spending the weekend with Reuben, Wayne, Buddy, Rosie, and Reuben's sister, Phyllis, the Travelling Nurse. Wayne started to tell me one of his dreams, and I thought, "I have no idea what he's talking about." It made no sense to me at all. And then it occurred to me why J doesn't like me to tell my dreams. It's possible that because they are so personal and so intimate that no one else could possibly understand the significance of the imagery and events of the dream. So, it all becomes something of a blur, or even something out of Twin Peaks. I never understood that show.

That's really all. I got my haircut on Saturday. I hate the NT-level security of Windows 2000. Why should anyone have to sign on to a computer if they're the only one using it? Just turn it on and let me use it, for crying out loud. It's just about damn cold out here right now, and I'm a little fed up.

I went out to my car this morning, 9:30-ish, and there was frost!!! on my windows. I grew up in the Midwest, so the snow and frost thing isn't new to me, but over the last twelve years that I have lived in California, I have misplaced my ice scraper, and thus had to rely on an expired club membership card to bail me out. And then the sun rose up over the neighboring building and melted the rest away. And I'm freezing my cojones off, and that's never good.

My beautiful laundrette burned down over the weekend. Milt's 24 Hour Laundry on Telegraph in Berkeley is gone. J called to tell me. When he was growing up in Philadelphia, his father used to chase fire trucks to watch the fires they were called to (and the men who were extinguishing those fires, too, probably). So, when J saw the four-alarm blaze from down the road, he had to stop and watch.

Anyway, I am so upset, like you wouldn't believe. I was able to sashay my tired ass into that laundromat at 11:00 p.m. on a Saturday night (remember that I have no life) and leave there by 12:30 a.m. without having to wait in line for a dryer. And now, I'm stuck. I have to find another 24-hour laundromat somewhere nearby.

I know it sounds pathetic, but it was part of my life for three years, and now it's not. So I have to find something else to do.

OK, it is pathetic.

That's all.