It's only a little prick.

I went in to get blood drawn this morning. I'm not particularly afraid of needles or rubber tubing so it's not a cause for concern, however, today was different. Today before I rolled up my sleeves and proffered an arm, I saw something unusual.

I noticed a frail, old woman standing at the counter and showing something to the receptionist. Suddenly, the receptionist's eyes went wide. "Oh my gosh. Here," she said, "let me help you with your coat. We don't want ..." She let the sentence hang and quickly came around the counter. She removed the woman's pink coat from her shoulders and led her to the back area. As they passed, I noticed that the woman's arm was covered in blood. Blood seeped from under the cotton ball and tape, and flowed to her wrist. The old woman looked unconcerned, if shaky. The only other bit I overheard was that one of the male nurses had performed the procedure.

And then they called my name. And I saw it was a male nurse.

I was, I think, understandably paranoid.

I determined to erase the mental image from my mind, and it ended okay. They got their vials, and I got the frell out of there.

As for the bank accounts I opened yesterday, I checked my messages and apparently there was one piece of paperwork I hadn't signed and could I please come back and take care of it? I went in after the blood drawing and signed my name by a couple of X's. I think that's settled now.

I printed out maps and figured out what I need to do get a driver's license, car registration, and emissions check. And I ate half a big ass breakfast burrito.

Most of my entries these days are thinly veiled lists, and I apologize for the lack of variety. Maybe once I'm unemployed full-time I'll have the energy to think about the Important Issues Facing Us Today.

In a rare display of social consciousness I've been following the Katrina devastation pretty closely. I don't have anything supportive or constructive to say about it, except wow. And I hope everyone gets through as best they can, which I realize is absolutely no help and that if I really wanted to help I'd donate money to the Red Cross. But for now, the affected areas will have to settle for good thoughts. At least until my check to the moving company clears.

Patience is a Fucking Virtue

Thinking about today brings expletives to my lips.

I crossed a few more items off the list. For the move, I changed the destination to the depot instead of having the trailer delivered to our apartment. This arrangement saves us $150, which we will now use to rent the U-Haul needed to bridge the gap between the depot and our apartment.

I paid strong, agile men to rotate and align the tires on my car. These men were listening to the Indigo Girls over their loudspeaker. I sang along.

I paid a different group of able men to change the oil and pour fluids into funnels to keep my engine operating at its full potential. These men also replaced one radiator cap and a valve.

I got a cute haircut.

I opened a checking and savings account with an unnamed national bank. It required large amounts of patience because the person who opened the account was brand new, eager to please, and didn't have enough training. He was very kind, but when he went looking for his trainer, the trainer had disappeared. We fumbled through somehow, and I will consider myself lucky if my account numbers are correct and the checks I ordered arrive eventually.

It's the first time I've ever thought to myself, "These are the last people who should have my money. Maybe if I creep out quietly, they won't notice I left." Instead I decided to give them a chance, but if anything else gets screwed, I'm holding out for a credit union.

At least I got to read another hundred pages of "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell." At least.

Just do what?

Jer's family is in town to see the dog show. And us. And also to get their computer back, which was undergoing some emergency format and reinstall surgery. At the same time their computer blew up, my parents' computer blue-screened. I suspect parental sabotage to keep us in the state.

In one month, I'll be in Kauai, and my official address will be in Seattle. That seems very far from where I am now. It's been six months since Lasik, and over a year since I started at this wacky company that's laying me off to consolidate itself geographically. One year ago, my kitten wasn't born yet. My sister's husband wasn't in Iraq. I hadn't flown in eight years -- since then I've been a passenger on 3 round trip flights, and 2 more are scheduled in the next month. My driver's side mirror was still broken, the car battery was on its last legs, I stacked my clothes on a flimsy kitchen rack, my computer was about to melt down, and Red Bull was in heavy rotation. One year ago, I didn't know I had hyperthyroidism. I didn't take pills every night. And I hadn't had a play produced.

If I were to give advice to future Christy one year from now, knowing what I know, it'd be: Have fun. Don't stress. No excuses.

Because my inner child is a Nike ad.

This is what I do now. I move things back and forth and then sell what's left. It may not look it, but that's one heavy piece of pantry.

Girls Gone Wild, Pantry Style

Due to Jer's superior selling skills, we're one pantry lighter. I just helped the lucky couple load it in their hatchback, and then I watched them drive off into the sunset. Or mid-afternoon heat.

He's also got verbal promises of payment for the washer, the dryer and the futon. Reducing our load is good, especially as it means gas money for the road trip or money for food. This fits firmly into my pro-eating, pro-driving, less-lifting agenda.

Not much else to report. I backed up my work files to CD. I nicked a couple of water bottles to combat the oppressive apartment heat (okay, not so much oppressive as annoying) and I cleared a path for Operation: Pantry Removal -- I keep reading it as panty removal which makes my life sound far more interesting.

Yep. This is my wild Friday.

I think I'll have an apricot beer and hope the power doesn't go out again. This is what my people like to call a siesta.

All that climbing on boxes makes Chiana sleepy. Also, now with my new SB-600 I can take pictures indoors AND after dark. Hooray for artificial light!

Chiana climbs among boxes and dismantled futon parts as I play with my shiny, new flash.

Oh the Humanity

I just individually wrapped our liquor bottles in newsprint and set them lovingly in a cardboard box.

Goodbye gin, vermouth, rum, tequila... and Godspeed.

Product Endorsement

If you need address labels -- and who doesn't, life is much easier when you don't have to write your address over and over -- you should consider buying them online from Superior Labels.

Their customer service is awesome, and their label choices are plentiful. Kindly consider Superior Labels for all your label needs.

They were kind enough to pull my order from the outgoing mail and delay shipment because I underestimated their turnaround time. I didn't expect them to be so efficient! And not only did they honor my stupidity, but they were very nice and fast about it. What's not to like?

Wired

We bought sedatives for the cats. You know, just in case. It's possible that 20 hours in the car might push our adorable, little angels over the edge. As it is, when they realize we've moved their feline asses to Seattle, I bet we'll find them standing over us in the night, claws extended and pressed against our throats, demanding safe passage back to paradise.

I'm contemplating VoIP for the new place. I hate the cost of cell phones, and while I'm not sure I could live without one, I can at least lower my monthly usage and reduce my cost. Vonage is the current front-runner, with Packet8 and Skype close behind. I like that with the first two I can use a proper phone without being shackled to my desk. I hate how much energy I've expended on this problem when phones are my least favorite utility.

I've got an acute case of phone aversion. I just don't trust 'em. They're like, tools of the devil, man.

Jer has been very helpful. He made lots of calls today on my behalf and suffered my anxiety. It looks like we're renting a U-Haul and transferring our belongings from one big ass truck to a smaller ass truck and then unloading it all at our apartment. It's inconvenient and messy, but has the added benefit of keeping us sane and not costing an extra $400. The other way we would have had to unload everything in one hour, which is not even remotely possible, as much as we would like it to be.

I finally checked in with our current landlord and we are set to move. I (big surprise) was a little worried we hadn't heard from him and thought maybe he hadn't received our notice. I should have known though, since this is the man who describes himself as a "capitalist hippie," that we were all just taking it easy and his response was on its way. Dude, relax.

If only I could get sedatives for me. Those lucky cat bastards.

As a result of my extreme vanity, I'm posting a picture of myself from New Year's 2003. This is one of the few times where I'm not worrying about something, as evidenced by the empty pink cup. In fact, I'm feeling no pain.

Worry Wart

I stress too much. I'm currently stressing over the move -- not the whole thing, just one part, just the dropoff. The company we're using says we need a permit to park the trailer and then we have to pay a person to babysit the trailer at $120/hour. The first hour is free.

But... but...

So then I think, can Jer and I unload the trailer in one hour? Maybe if we stack everything on the ground first and then carry it up from there. Then the driver can leave and we can take our time. Sure, this might be how we get around the law, but it seems... inefficient... to leave our shit on the sidewalk.

Or we could drive to the trailer terminal with a U-Haul, transfer our possessions to the U-Haul and take care of it ourselves. This also seems inefficient. I'm getting ready to contact the local transportation department and separate fact from fiction, but geez. People move everyday. It can't be that hard!

In two weeks we send the trailer off and drive 20 hours in two cars with two cats. I haven't had a chance to stress about that yet, but don't worry. It's only a matter of time.

Upon arriving at my cubicle yesterday morning I couldn't help but notice the place was crawling with ants. At least they weren't the siafu kind... I sprang to action and employed my patented thumb squishing technology to reclaim my territory, but the ants had already taken hold. The situation quickly escalated to include traps and spray. If only we'd had time to ventilate the area... I was forced to leave work early and pack boxes instead of making myself look busy. Turns out, nobody cares anymore if I look busy. I might as well stay home.

I Heart Cephalopods

It smells like rain. Is it the Ghost of Apartment Future?

All the glasses are packed. I'm getting rid of most of the dishes. There is fresh newsprint paper waiting patiently by the pots and pans. I initiated mail forwarding.

After finishing the entry this morning I switched on the Discovery channel and flopped on the couch. I watched a documentary on the Humboldt squid (otherwise known as carnivorous, cannibal squid who travel in packs, live at great depths, and have roughly 36,000 fangs on their suckers), then another on siafu ants, and then another on deadly snakes. During the siafu show I fell asleep, but later woke refreshed, despite hearing an interview about ants swarming over a baby and eating it alive, and then seeing pictures of a chicken carcass, stripped of its flesh by a highway of arthropods.

Who needs Saturday morning cartoons when you've got oodles of sensationalist critter propaganda? I love me some eXtreme animal action.

Chewing the Cud

It's a packing day. I've got an urge to follow that sentence with a rollicking round of expletives, but for the modesty of the reader, I will refrain.

See how you influence me?

I'm running out of excuses and time, but I've got a kitten in my lap so I don't care. I'm not stupid. I know she's just using me to get at both my frosty can of Diet Dr. Pepper and Louie. Speaking of killing two birds at once, would anyone like a slightly broken parakeet? Come on faceless void, he's free. We are unable to take him with us to the Emerald City, and besides, the kitten wants to eat him. Being constantly regarded as prey doesn't do much for a parakeet's self-esteem. Apparently.

There's only two weeks until the moving van arrives. I've got to buy specialized boxes for packing martini, wine, and margarita glasses because I'm too lazy to wrap each one individually and our collection of dishes is alcohol themed.

I just checked and U-Haul is open for business, so now I've got so few excuses I'm in the red. Except there's still the kitten factor, weighing me down with her soft fur. She tried to attack a solicitor through the screen door last night. It was an older man, selling steaks out of his van or something, and she started pawing at the door and crying at him to go away. She's not particularly fearsome, but I appreciated the effort.

Maybe she's one of those ninja kittens I've been hearing so much about. Stealth *is* one of her skills...

If Wishes were Fishes

I want to curl up with a book. The sky can be gray, that's all right. The cats should be close, and if there's a fire going, I'd be happy. I want to be perfectly dry and warm and comfortable. It's important not to be too warm. And the book should be interesting, and the pages well lit.

For the Seattle trip, I took "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell." It's okay, a little dry, Jane Austen-ish without the squee. (Mark the occasion. I never use the word squee.) I'm only 250 pages in, so who knows.

There's not much for me to do at work. I'm below the radar since my boss is no longer with the company and there are backup plans in place. I'm free to surf the web and make moving checklists and use company bandwidth for frivolous pursuits. Time moves slowly when I'm being frivolous.

I'd like to write something more substantial, something with meat. Maybe plot. Something that goes beyond a daily checklist. And I want to do it in front of a fantastic view of the Seattle skyline. I think life can oblige.

In the new apartment, this will be the view out of my living room window.

Next!

Crap, I'm beat. The quick summary is that we found a place and signed the lease. It's a two bedroom, two bath condo on the water in West Seattle. It has a fireplace, dishwasher, washer and dryer, balcony, and beautiful view of the Seattle skyline from the living room picture window.

When the commute gets tough, I'll just think of that view.

I guess now I switch from house-find mode to job-hunt mode. Never a dull moment.

Wanderlust

We left the rental car by Seacrest Park, and took the Elliot Bay Water Taxi into town. There was coffee, and a 12-minute boat ride. We walked to Pioneer Square and explored the shelves at the Elliot Bay Book Company. Then more coffee, followed by a brisk walk to the awesomely architected Seattle Library, followed by another brisk walk to Pike Place Market. More coffee. A book was purchased.

Let me pause and share that the womens' restroom at Pike Place Market has the weirdest stalls I've ever seen. The doors only go up about four feet, so as you walk by, you can see the faces of the women using the stalls. You can see that they are sitting, and perhaps concentrating, and perhaps when you realize what you're seeing, everyone plays the "Isn't-it-funny-how-everyone-else-is-suddenly-invisible?" game and the floor is the most interesting thing you've ever seen. I imagine that my modesty will continue to have nightmares about these stalls, long after the memory is reduced to a snapped synapse.

I notice now that I've got to be awake in six hours to drive to the airport. Stupid 3am.

A Living Room with a View

We found a place.

At 10am, we waited in an alley, between a 7-Eleven and a Shell gas station, outside a freshly painted duplex/townhouse. Eighty-five degrees, the rumble of an air-conditioner, and the smell of exhaust... if only the property manager had bothered to show. Instead, at five minutes after ten, I called her cell phone. I listened to her say in a chipper voice, "If you're calling about the Seattle property, yeah, it's already rented. Leave a message!" Thanks for callin' sweetheart. Thanks for being so professional. There's nothing I wanted to do more this morning, than to wait in an alley for a delinquent be-atch.

I won't lie to you. There was anxiety. From the photos, we figured the place was perfect. After a disappointing yesterday, we wanted this to be the one. We'd driven around the neighborhood. Lots of cute shops, restaurants, schools. And here we were, in an alley, kicking our shoes into the pavement. We went to a coffeehouse and I bought a mocha. Jer turned on his laptop and we checked craigslist. And there it was. Two bedrooms, 2 bath, cats ok, d/w, w/d, f/p, down the street. I called.

The owner saw us right away.

And through the picture window, we saw the entire Seattle skyline.

It's a condo, and it's on the water.

Three hours later, I wrote the check and we signed the paperwork.

In other news, our hotel room is below a family of crackheads. Possibly elephant crackheads, who like to hop up and down, and periodically bang their heads against the walls. I hate them. They've kept me from sleeping for two nights and they've already started up again, however, I think I've mastered the fine art of lounging with an arm over my ear, and the other ear pressed firmly into the mattress, so perhaps I won't wake up every two hours to hear yet another symphony of pounding.

Oh dear God, I hate them. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll overdose.

One of the places we saw had a wet bar in the basement. And the wet bar was painted fantastic colors, blue and orange and pink and green, with green vinyl seats along the wall. If only we were the orgy type, then this place would have been perfect. Its downfall was its -- how you say -- unfortunate location and prominently featured security system.

Another place was a one-bedroom house with a converted attic that was advertised as a "cozy" 3 bedroom. The ad also said it had a dishwasher, which it did, if you count rolling in the portable from the porch everytime you want to do a load as a dishwasher.

And then there was the place where the floors sloped. It was also advertised as a 3 bedroom, but not so much, since there were only 2 bedrooms and a family room that didn't have a door. It was down the street from a hollowed out Big K. The parking lot was empty and sad, like my water bottle, after two days of eighty plus temperatures.

I am so clever.

But seriously Mr.-Global-Warming-Isn't-Real, where is all the rain? We were promised rain!

In one month, assuming everything finishes falling into place, I could be sitting in my living room, watching the lights of the Seattle skyline. Right now, I'm watching "Medium" starring Patricia Arquette, and letting the laptop burn my legs through a thin, white pillow. And I am most decidedly not thinking about the abuse that this poor comforter has suffered at the hands and orifices of a thousand strangers. And maybe I'm drinking a beer, because it will help me sleep through the slings and arrows of the crackheads above. Oh the indignities we suffer for our dreams.

Jetsetter

I'm "working" a half day so we can get a headstart on traffic. I'm getting my thoughts together, printing out lists and directions, and confirmation numbers for the road. I am armed with a big black binder full of information. I've set up appointments, and labeled index dividers. I have the Seattle travel guide I made in 2003...

and I'm all wound up and antsy.

I try not to think about the places we'll be seeing. I don't want to get my hopes up. There are a million things that could go wrong, and I try not to think about that either. Since I got drunk last Friday I haven't wanted anything alcoholic in my system, so there's nothing to take the edge off. It's just me, tapping my feet and twitching -- not that I'd be drinking before 10am anyway, I've got standards.

Prepare yourselves for no updates. I am taking to the skies.

Fiddle Faddle

The big screen TV has left the building. A young man in a black pick-up truck drove it off into the sunset. Besides the big gaping hole in our hearts and living room, we're left with spending money for our fact finding mission.

I am now to compile a list of previous residences and job histories and the property managers of apartments past into a ginormous cheatsheet. I am to practice my response to the question, "So, where are you working now?" I am also to fold laundry, pack, and think about returning emails without actually doing anything at all.

It's a damn shame that you can't get a job without a local residence, but you can't get a local residence without a job (or a steady source of income, hello unemployment checks!).

Since Jer sold his desk, he wanders around aimlessly, lost, fingers hovering, typing into dead air. His computer parts are scattered to the four corners of the office, dusty and forgotten. And to stave off the boredom, he keeps making me pack stuff. Send help.

Thank you to everybody who sent me birthday wishes. I keep meaning to send back individual replies but I keep convincing myself I already did, when I didn't, because I'm crazy. And not very nice. Surprise!

As hopelessly fascinating as this all is, I better go do something before Vash stabs me in the face again. That cat can be a right bastard.

Happy Birthday to Meeeeee.

There was a big product release today and we got it done. After weeks of hanging on, staring at the wall, and trying to gather enough focus to finish all the mundane-ity, it's over. I can goof off. I can sit around, collect paychecks, and wait for my last day. At least, in theory.

Seattle update: I've got a couple appointments lined up with property managers, for places where I'd like to live, so the ever-present static of desperation is down a notch. I don't have any plans for the down-time, except maybe to drive around and see what I see. My resume is circulating, and those damn boxes aren't packing themselves. Besides that, I do not know.

Jer sold his desk, and maybe the big screen television. The first set of potential buyers complained that the big screen was too big. I guess they didn't know what the word "big" meant. But seriously, there were pictures. How could they not see it was "big" from the pictures?

Do you think we'll have to look at more than two places before we settle on a rental? Because I'm feeling really lazy. I wish it were two months from now and all our stuff was magically transported far, far away. And maybe this magical place would have a roof deck. And a dishwasher. And a washer/dryer. And parking, while we're at it. We'll see.

Oh oh oh! I got my permit to park the commercial trailer/moving van on our street on street sweeping day. I am so happy. Permits are a wonderful thing because they're like a government sanctioned bribe, you see. I am supporting of the permits.

In honor of my birthday, I think I might indulge in some frivolous game play.

Fear and Loathing

I drafted a letter to the landlord to say we're moving out in thirty days.

I finished the paperwork to board the cats and sent in my deposit.

I helped Jer pack another two boxes.

Three and a half weeks from now, we move. This weekend we fly up and find an apartment.

Here are some bigger things we're selling. It's all very reasonably priced, but you have to pick it up yourself. My email address is at the bottom of the page if you're interested.

I found my sunglasses in the back of Jer's car. The day is redeemed.

And I am no longer hungover. Three cheers for sobriety.

There is nothing much snarky to say. Everything is so serious that it's funny. All the time funny. And I am having vivid dreams about chains and drowning sweetly. And all the faces I have ever seen are super-imposed on one another, saying words I can't remember and don't understand for all the clatter. What would Freud say? Nothing I'd wager, if I hid his nose candy, the irascible old fool.

Viva la Fiesta '05

On Behaving Badly

Friday was Fiesta so I went downtown to celebrate. I ate tamales and taquitos, beans and rice. I drank beer and tequila and a whiskey sour and margaritas. I did stupid things like lip sync to bad 80's songs, and then I left my sunglasses at somebody's house which makes me feel bad because they were expensive and I love them. They're polarized. I rode in a taxi. I paid a man at a jewelry stand to read the Tarot. I called Jer to pick me up. I sat at an open window and watched girls in short skirts walk down the street. Several wore a Budweiser sign around their waist that said something about tasting great or being less filling or some other double entendre that drove my companions' imaginations wild. The boys shelled peanuts and threw the skins on the floor. I ate jalapeno poppers and played badly at cards. I lost twenty dollars and watched the sun set behind the hills.

Saturday we went to a wedding at a girl scout camp. There were goats and chickens and a fat tire swing. I was hungover. It was hard to stand and there was no water. I wore a skirt that showed off my white, mosquito bitten legs. We ate outside under a sign that said, "Chow Wagon." My high heels sunk in the dirt and kicked up dust when I walked so I changed to flip flops. The wedding started late and we sat in the hot, bright sun, making small talk. There was no alcohol. We toasted with energy drinks.

Now I sleep.

Quick to Anger, Slow to Rise

I'm a little sad about missing my high school reunion. Instead of drinking red wine in an air-conditioned hotel with people I hardly know, I'll be at an outdoor wedding, fanning myself with both hands and making awkward small talk with people I hardly know. At least at the reunion I'd get to wear a nametag. It's much easier to fake small talk if you can guess a person's name. If there's a lull you can just repeat the other person's name over and over until they cock an eyebrow and leap desperately into a new topic of conversation.

Por ejemplo: You still live in town? Really, that's nice. Hot enough for you? Ha, good one. So, John. John, John, John, John, John...

Eventually the other party *should* -- unless they're more socially inept than you -- pick up the thread and run with it. But only because they're sad and embarrassed for you, and they can't get away. It's not that they actually care. Better conversation through guilt, that's my motto.

I came up with a new phrase today: ass butter.

Wait'll you hear it in a sentence. It'll blow your ever-lovin' mind.

In other news, a co-worker and I went to Merriam Webster's website and I made my page phonetically pronounce "butter" and he made his say "ass" and we timed it so that it sounded like the dictionary voice man was saying "ass butter."

The end.

PS I'm drinking wine from North Carolina that tastes like fruit punch and mixed nuts. Pass it on.

Tooth is Stranger Than Fiction

Our 48 discount boxes were delivered yesterday. They're all bound and neatly stacked in the living room. Now replace "neatly" with "precariously" and "stacked" with "tilted at angles to make gravity angry" and you've got a clearer picture.

We packed two more boxes of books last night. I think that brings our book box total to 7, and there are still 3 1/2 bookcases left.

Checked another couple of items off the list today. Got my teeth cleaned and made an appointment to get Vash micro-chipped... I have excellent oral hygiene, in case you were wondering. If anyone ever needed to identify my decaying, waterlogged corpse by comparing dental X-rays of my overbite to the shattered pieces of my jawbone, there's no doubt there'd be a match.

So you know, don't even try.

When my boss asked what I planned to do after the site closure, I replied, "I'm not worried. I can always go back to stripping." And later when he asked about my future goals, I said, "Well, I'd like to work my way up to Madam, you know, work my way up the pole..."

Anything for a laugh.

Missy, will you please help me work it?

I've got a draft of my resume that works. Or might get me work. So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.

In the last few days I've heard three wholly unconnected people say, "where the rubber meets the road," in business context.

I attended a 401K teleconference workshop. I didn't learn anything, except that if I made $80,000/year (which I don't), and I could go back in time three years and save twenty percent of my (fictitious) income, I could someday maybe have two million dollars in the bank at retirement age. But then I'd probably want to die anyway, because without a job or a purpose, there's no point living. Keep in mind I'm just paraphrasing. The actual message was far more subtle and conveyed entirely via bar graph.

My head is full of lists. I'm barefoot at my desk because the insect bites defy shoes. I've overly caffeinated. Sometimes I wear a headband. My cafes of the world calendar features Prague for August. I found a hotel to stay in that accepts cats for when we drive to Seattle. I moved my dentist appointment to tomorrow so insurance covers the cleaning. And maybe x-rays. My hygienist is nice and very gentle. I will miss her. I hate Excel. I'm twitching a lot because I'm sending emails to people I don't know asking them for job leads in a roundabout way. I hate networking. I'm dismal at networking. If networking were a sport, it'd be skeet shooting, because I bet I suck at that too. If networking were a vegetable, it'd be radishes or maybe celery without peanut butter. Or shredded carrots mixed with raisins. Or moldy avocadoes. Mmm, avocadoes. No wait, it's alfalfa sprouts I don't like. See, networking is like sprouts because they're both long and stringy and fall out of your sandwich.

They're exactly the same only not at all.

In a week from tomorrow, I turn 28. My mom sent me cat vitamins.

Raising Money for the Move: Status

Selling my worldly possessions to date has resulted in: $231.42. 46% of my goal.

Thank goodness there are still people in the world willing to pay money for "The Phantom Menace" and "Pearl Harbor" DVDs.

The Phenomenon of Kevlar

My Sunday disguised as a bulleted list:

• Reserved the moving van - even though we're not sure where we're moving yet
• Got a lead from the helpful Street Sweeping authority on who to contact for permits for the van
• Bought round-trip plane tickets from Seattle to Los Angeles for our vacation - we're flying out of LAX to Hawaii with Jer's family
• Made reservations with a cat boarding house - Hawaii again
• Ordered discount moving boxes
• Walked to a Greek festival, shared a gyro, spanokopita, tiropita, loukamathes, dolmathes, and Greek coffee
• Watched the insect bites grow bigger and bumpier and did not itch them. Ever. Despite what you may have heard.
• Learned my sister may have surgery for a serious health issue
• Blew up at Spiegel's when I discovered that the dress I ordered a month ago, won't arrive in time for a wedding I'm attending this weekend
• Packed a box
• Played an hour of Warcraft
• Enrolled Chiana in American Kennel Club's Companion Animal Recovery - she's microchipped and now she's in their database

Bring it on, Monday! After kicking so much ass on Sunday, I know you'll be pie.

Damn the Mosquitoes!

There is not enough Caladryl in all of Caladrylia to make this itching stop.