Strangeness developed last night when I ran into my neighbor, M. She normally stays indoors with her little yapping dog and 2 cats, but last night, as I was having my last cigarette before bed, her boyfriend (?) decided to introduce himself to me after mistaking me for M.

Let it be known that I look absolutely nothing like M. She stands at least a foot shorter than I, at least 40 pounds lighter, and is in her late 40’s – early 50’s. Of course, the only light source was about 8’ above and behind me, so I can let the mistake slide.

So the bf comes up to me and introduces himself as R. I chat for a bit pleasantly with him, although he is visibly drunk and keeps answering his cell phone, only to walk away for a minute, then come back. So R decides to get M out on the front stoop to join in on the conversation, which was waning at best. The conversation took a further nosedive when M arrived, as she and R had a tendency to talk over each other and ask me the same questions multiple times. M’s dog, who was happily running about the neighborhood unwatched, appeared and thought it best to jump up on my lap and place little muddy paw kisses all over my pants. This didn’t really bother me, as I know that mud can usually be washed out easily, and I proceeded to attempt an excuse to leave and get to bed, as the night was moving swiftly.

They would have none of that. M and R invited me into M’s house, which just happens to be the last house I lived in. Curiosity killed me, and I followed them into her abode to check out her ideas of décor, which, of course, was horrid. I don’t think I was surprised at all about the absolute clash of everything in her place… this is, as you may remember, the woman who has 2 dead plants on an ugly table on the front stoop.

So we sit and converse just a bit more, when she reaches for a box on her coffee “table” and opens it to reveal a pipe and little plastic sandwich bags all rolled up in a pile. And not empty little sandwich bags, but sandwich bags filled and rolled up into fat green cigars in plastic. Only they weren’t cigars. And I think you know what that means.

I immediately grew uncomfortable, as while I don’t care if people smoke weed, I don’t do it myself, and people who think they can smoke weed in front of a person they hardly know are usually a little off their rocker, or at least not as paranoid as I would be.

I quickly excused myself from the situation and went on with my night. I was, and continue to be creeped out by the whole situation. Would you be?

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I had a bit of a freakout yesterday. My personal trainer called my cell and left a little message that counted as the start of my Pissed-Off 5 Hours yesterday. Her husband’s company is moving them to California like now, and I’m going to have to switch to a new trainer. This sucks. I have been working with my trainer for almost a year, and I’m really comfortable with her at this point.

Zach suggested that I give up going to a personal trainer at all. He says that if I don’t know what to do myself after a year, then what’s the point? The point is I do know what to do. I could really set up my own workouts every other week and up my weight and all that, but I really don’t think I would do it without the knowledge that in a week’s time, I’ll be getting measured and probed. It’s just an extra reason to get off of my ass and go to the gym. If it were up to me, I really wouldn’t be all that hard on myself, and I would get far less done than I should. Besides, I can let myself off the hook for not going into the gym for a week or two, but she’d look at me with those disappointed mother-eyes that we all love to hate. It’s instant guilt. It’s my security blanket.

So she’s moving away, most likely never to return, and I have to deal with learning to deal with another person altogether. I mean, this is just happening a little faster than I thought, as the trainer is pregnant, and I was going to have to do it anyway, it’s just happening months before I thought it would.

Everything else is actually going spectacularly. I started the Fair Isle pattern on my sweater last night (pink hearts!!), and it’s actually a lot easier than I thought it would be. I just hope that shaping the arm holes and shoulders and all that will be just as easy. I’ll take a picture of it tonight when I get back here after work so everyone can see what a wonderful job I’m doing. It’s really awesome that I was able to knit in 2 weeks what it took me a month to knit before. I’m rather proud of myself.

On the weight front, I’m down to 201 this morning, and soon I will be under that 200lb. mark, which I can’t remember seeing in a v. v. long time. Like before high school, even. I’ve been a fucking angel watching my calorie intake and going to the gym and not drinking alcohol. Again, pride makes my face glow. Ahhh.

The boy will be back in a week and 2 days, which also makes me beyond happy. I miss him terribly, and the cat is getting to be a real pain to sleep with, mostly because she doesn’t sleep at all. Every half hour, she walks over my head/on my hair, then meows in my ear. She wants me to play at 3am, and I’m just not about to do that. So I pet her once, then dive my arm back under the covers to make sure it’s keeping me warm along with the collective body parts. Eventually, I eventually fall back to sleep, as well.

I'm currently reading Life of Pi, which is turning out to be really excellent. I'm already more than halfway through the book; it's one of those you just can't put down. Every night I tell myself that I'm only going to be reading 2 chapters (they're v. short chapters), and I end up reading at least 20 pages. I'll be done with it possibly this weekend, then I'm on to Geisha: A Life by Iwasaki Mineko. I've heard excellent things about this book, as well. I've been torturing myself with it, as I tend to flip through Japanese/Nippongo novels too quickly, I had to put Life of Pi before this one on my list to break it from Modern Girls, Shining Stars, the Skies of Tokyo, which was fan-fucking-tastic, and I highly recommend it to anyone interested in Japanese women's lib, or is a connoisseur of Japanese history.

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Okay, so I fucking lied about giving everyone a little extra somethin-somethin on Wednesday. Like badly lied. I was trying to figure out what I could give that would so greatly make up for Tuesday’s murmuring, and I really couldn’t think of anything. So, I just skirted the issue by ignoring it, which, as everyone must know, is one of my specialties.

I thought of posting pictures of the re-knit of my sweater, along with comparison pictures of what it was like before it was frogged. But that won’t interest anyone that isn’t into knitting, crafts, or is perhaps mormon. I thought of posting pictures of the boy from Egypt, and exclaiming how fucking jealous I am that he’s out traipsing around Africa like Indi-fucking-ana Jones in the Red Pyramid. And I love the pictures, no doubt about that, but I don’t think that anyone is interested in seeing my boy in Egypt except for me.

So I have abso-farking-lutely nothing to share with you today. I am planning on going to see Carole King tonight at the ol’ bucket downtown for free with the hype and others. Really the only reason why I’m going is so I can say I’ve seen her live. I mean, she’s kind of like a legend. The hype is far more excited than I am about this whole situation, as you will see if you read his entry for today.

I’ve been melancholy for most of the day. I am proud of myself for going to the gym twice so far this week, and for being extra good with my food-eating and whatnot. I’ve lost 3 pounds of lord knows what, so at least there’s that. I’ve been tired so much and so often that I’m afraid I might be depressed. Either that, or it’s the lights they added at my work sapping my energy. By the time I’ve been home for a bit, I seem to feel a lot better, and can resume feeling like a normal human being. And then it’s time for bed.

I was thinking last night, like I do every night, about the strangest ideas: writing stories about leaves dancing across sidewalks on sunny days when the wind gusts. Thinking about how someone should fucking invent a mind-reading computer already, so my stoner-like enthrallment with my mindfulness at night might be dashed in the morning when I look at my thoughts upon a screen and realize they’re utter garbage. Geezus, I do sound depressed.

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Help! I am fat and I need to lose weight. I need to go the gym regularly again, and stick with it. I need to stop impulse eating. I want to be able to get in a bathing suit and not want to smack myself when looking in the mirror. I want my body to look better. I don’t want this buddha any more, and I don’t want to have my arms keep waving after I’ve stopped.

Over the past 2 years, I’ve lost about 60 pounds of fat from my body. I need to keep this up, but I’ve been hovering around the same weight since fucking August, and I hate that. The boy and I will be in Australia in August, and I need to be able to be fit enough to go hiking in the outback, to go swimming in the reef, and to be able to jump up and down 2349865 times without losing my breath.

Here are my mid-month resolutions:

1. No more drinking – I can’t keep telling myself that a vodka Collins isn’t going to be that many calories. I can’t keep drinking glasses of wine and telling myself that it’s damned good for my heart.
2. Throw out the Valentine’s candy. After stuffing my face with Hershey’s Hugs and Kisses over the past 3 days, I can’t afford to even think about another one without adding another tire around my waist.
3. No more cheating. I have to stop eating unportioned sizes, and telling myself that it’s alright to have that third slice of breakfast pizza because it’s a vegetarian, and at least it has vegetables on it and vegetables are good for me.
4. No more sugar freakouts. I didn’t grow up on sugar, but for the past couple of months, I have been craving something sweet after almost every meal, and fruit just hasn’t been cutting it. Must cut self off completely, cold-turkey.
5. Must start going to the gym regularly again. Today is my 2-week anniversary of not going to the gym. Since I went to Savannah, I’ve been really horrible at going to the gym, even when I know I should.
6. I must turn all of the “musts” into “wills” above.
7. I must remember all of the above to give myself strength and motivation.

The scariest thing about exercise and eating and losing weight and all that is that I am the only one responsible for how it goes. I am the only person or thing responsible for me not losing weight continuously, for not going to the gym every other day, and for stuffing my face with pizza, wine, and chocolates last weekend. I needed to write this down somewhere as a reminder to myself of what my goals and hopes are. Hope you understand. And if you have actually read this far without wanting to barf or just closing the page, good for you. You will get a special treat tomorrow. ^_^

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yeah, so, remember what i said yesterday? i was obviously wrong.

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invariable proof that spring is indeed on its way

... and now it's time for another friday five. this time from the present:

1. Are you superstitious?
not really at all. at least not in the normal ways... i don't care about the number 13, nor fridays that fall on this number. neither do i care about ladders or walking on cracks. I do, however, believe in not sleeping with your head facing north. Though my bed is currently set up like this, I also don't feel comfortable with my feet facing the door in the bedroom. I don't like dead plants hanging about, as I don't think it brings good energy to the room. I do like lots of live plants. they're my friends.

2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?
none, really. as far as i know, none of my friends are superstitious, and no one i've known recently has really been superstitious. i've heard of people wearing crosses to ward away evil or something, but that's a bit extreme for me.

3. Believer or not, what's your favorite superstition?
i dig the black cat one. my cat is all black, and she's not evil unless she's trying to climb up my leg while i'm not wearing pants. but she's really v. sweet.

4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?
again, not really... i believe in karma, but not in pure luck.

5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?
unconventionally. i believe that the alignment of the planets change energy levels in people and places. i don't believe one can tell his/her future from the stars and planets, though. every day there are opportunities lost and opportunities taken. it's all about free will and choosing where your life will go. no one can tell you that.

I had to make a v. tough decision last weekend. The sweater I had been working on for over a month had gotten up to the point where I started a new colour, and as I was reading through the pattern, I realized I had been using the incorrect needle size this whole time. I put the sweater on (it only came up to my breasts), and realized that it was, indeed, a bit on the small size.

I had one of two options; 1) I could either continue the sweater, finish it up, and give it to someone smaller than I or 2) completely scrap the sweater and start again from the beginning. I chose to do the latter. As this is my first attempt at a sweater, some places were obviously sloppy, and I wasn’t too offended knowing that I needed to complete those areas again. Also, I did want to keep the sweater, as it should turn out v. cute, and one cannot have enough cute sweaters.

So I completely undid what I had been doing for the past month or so… I rolled the yarn up into 3 balls and started again. I completed one half of the bottom last night while watching Six Feet Under, and I am rather looking forward to doing it all over again.

In other news, I was in line behind the slowest ever bagging girl at Winco yesterday.
Begin public service announcement:
When in a grocery store like Winco, where one must bag his or her own groceries in exchange for Big Money Savings (and a chance to avoid Albertson's at all costs), please do the following:

1. Move your cart to the end of the aisle/conveyor belt where your food will end up. Do not block the aisle, as someone else will be coming down it soon, and you will need to move it anyhow.
2. As you place your purchases on the conveyor belt/counter before the checker, make sure they’re organized into groups that are easily packable together.
3. Do not, under any circumstances, wait until all of your groceries have been totaled to start packing your bags. This will slow everyone in the entire store to a mere crawl.
4. Do not, under any circumstances, smile at me while slowly bagging your groceries. If you have enough time to smile, you have enough time to hurry the fuck up and get the hell out of my way.
5. If you have completely ignored all guidelines above, don’t look horribly offended when I sigh and look v. impatient. I am a VIP, yo, and I don’t have the time to hang out for hours at the bloody grocery store while you pick and choose what veggies are going with the bleach in the bag you’re packing.
6. After all is said and done, and you have completed your 15-minute packing of the trolley, please oh please, do not push the said trolley away v. v. v. slowly, sifting through your wallet. Someone just may run into you with her cart. Accidentally.

/end public service announcement.

Since the Friday Fives have been getting a little on the lame side, and I’m just too damned tired to really think of anything to write right now, let’s expand our minds with a Friday Five (insert resounding echo) from the past!

Taken from the long-ago randomly-picked date of October 5th, 2001, this Friday Five will be pastrific… just remember that I am answering the questions today, not 2+ years ago… oh, gaze wondrously at the magic of modern technology:

October 5, 2001
1. What's on top of your refrigerator?
Currently: my microwave, a speaker (on top of the microwave), wheat dinner rolls, an almost-empty bag of chips, herb pots with nothing in them, about 50 postcards (used to be on the fridge), leftover wall border from the construction guys, dust.

2. What's your favorite meal of the day?
Whatever includes sushi.

3. Wash dishes by hand or in the dishwasher? What detergent do you use?
Unfortunately, my apartment doesn’t include a dishwasher, so I am the dishwasher. The dishwasher only works when there's cooking to be done. Currently, I am using something that smells like lemon for detergent. I got sick of the apple stuff, and any of the flower-smelling soaps make me nauseous.

4. How often do you eat out compared to eating in?
Ben and I usually eat out once a week or so. Much like last night, we tend to go out for sushi every Thursday. Quickfact: Sushi is a good and healthy meal, which almost always ends up always costing more than expected.

5. How do you plan to spend your weekend?
Since the boy is leaving on Tuesday for NYC, he won’t be here for St. Val’s day. Therefore, we’re doing the whole thing this weekend… we’re getting a couple’s massage and going out for a movie on Saturday. Sunday is most likely to be spent in bed or on the computer(s) in our pajamas, getting none of the cleaning done that I so badly need and want to get done. *sigh*

Whoah… now that was insane! Watch me next time as I fall out of a plane… with no parachute!

PS. Dooce had her baby!!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

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As you may be able to tell, I am suffering from a rare and exciting form of cabin fever. You NYers might know what I’m talking about here… or even more so. So while I wither away, clutching my knees to my chest and rocking back and forth, one thing has been keeping me sane (at least at home).

Anime.

Yeah, I know… I’m a big loser geek. I love it. I love shoujo. I love the songs, the voices, the different styles of drawing. The characters become my friends, and once the series is finished (every anime series finishes with people dying/being resurrected/general hardcore drama), I have been known to cry my eyes out.

My latest loves are Kaleido Star, Scrapped Princess, and Hikaru No Go. Love. Them. All. And just to share a little bit of this with you, here is the end song for Scrapped Princess. I am in love with this song, and have been listening to it all night and day.

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My entire being longs to spring like one would long for love or herion. The sky has been once again threatening us with snow and taunting me with glimpses of blue found here and there. The blue is like blood, slowly being lost in the grey of the clouds, and I sit back again to wait.

This winter has been especially hard on me, as I didn't grow up in these kinds of conditions. Up until my 15th year, winter meant rain and the finally green grass. Everything came to life in the winter; the summer scorn lifted, and the world was alive again. Splashing in puddles on 70 degree days was a pastime. There were floods on years there weren't droughts. In the winter, we were free to take long hot showers, and I didn't have to worry about cutting the grass, because it was always too wet.

I still claim California as my own. Born in the heart of the Silicon Valley in 1979, I went back and forth between the Bay Area and Placer County, living in a house or a condo, then a house and a house. Though I've been in Idaho for 9+ years, I still get extremely homesick for the Bay and Sac.

When we first moved here, we lived in a place called Emmett, a small town about 40mi. NW of Boise. Driving home from Boise every day after school was torture. Filled with expectations far grander than the landscape, my first few years of Idaho weren't happy at all. The dry hills reminded me of those that previously lead me to the ocean, and every time we climbed to the crest of one of these hills, I would anxiously await the blinding reflection of the sun off of a large body of water. This, of course, never happened.

I did try going back to California before my senior year of high school. I attended summer school in Cupertino, and even enrolled in the same school I went to for half of my freshman year. However, living with my dad was far too much of a strain, and I ended up moving back to Idaho to live with my mom right before school started. I was happy to be back with my friends until the best friend stabbed me in the back repeatedly, as it goes in high school. At that point, I would have done anything to go back to California, but I knew I had missed my chance with my father a week before.

Now when I think about moving back to my state, it is a pipedream. California has pretty much gone down the shithole. I personally don't care for Arnie as a gov, nor do I want to spend $23895075 a year to live there. She's no longer the state of my remembering, nor is she the state of my childhood. California was a wonder to behold which is no longer. I have not step foot inside her borders in over 6 years, but I still consider her my home.

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