Just call me...

...Scabface.

This thing itches and hurts and I want to RIP IT OFF MY LIP NOW.
But that would just mess up the healing process. So I'm trying to remain calm. I'm trying to be one with my ginormous cold sore.
Serenity now.

Sounds like somebody has a case of the Mondays...

It was pouring when I left the house this morning... which led to a leaky bus. It's fun to play Dodge the Wet Spot when you're barely awake and trying to read your newspaper!

Okay, you remember how I was going on about how much I like the Olympics?
Is it just me, or were these games disappointing? I loved the spirit of the snowboarders, and I was thrilled to see Apolo get a gold over the weekend -- I especially loved HIS reaction, on the ice and on the podium -- but on the whole... meh. Not that much fun.

It's interesting that there's so much hand-wringing about the poor ratings for the games. I don't think it helped that NBC waited until 8 p.m. to run 3 1/2 - 4 hours of coverage each night, with all the most important stuff at the end of the night. I don't know anyone who can routinely stay up that late watching TV on weeknights.
It's going to be interesting to see what they do in 2010, when the games will be in my time zone...

Maybe I should go to Vancouver myself. It's a great city, and I've always wanted to see the Olympics.
Hmmm...

Do I know how to party or WHAT?

Hoo boy. I was at Target at closing time last night. On a Saturday night.

Actually, I've found that Saturday nights are the best time to shop there, as it's a lot less crowded and there are fewer toddlers running through the aisles, creating an obstacle course.

My cold sore and I did a whole lot of shopping last night. (I've decided I should treat my cold sore differently -- if I act like I like it, maybe it will go away. You know, like men do.)

I rarely buy clothes that aren't on sale. The mark-up on clothing at the store I shop at most often is obscene, and I know that everything will end up on sale eventually, so unless it's something I absolutely must have NOW, I'll wait until it's on sale. That works out well for me. And I love a good deal.

But I think I had my greatest victory last night. I got a cute, colorful tweedy coat with detachable faux-fur collar that had originally been priced at $260... for $31. Yes. A $229 markdown. Ahh, the satisfaction.

I also did some bra shopping last night, and I'm amazed that ALL of the bras in this store have these ginormous, molded cups aimed at hoisting your boobs up to your collarbone. I gotta say, they're pretty comfy, and since gravity is taking its toll, I seem to need the hoisting. My boobs actually DO look better up under my collarbone. And I actually look like I have some cleavage.

But I can't fit these things into my underwear drawer!

I'm serious.

I had a feeling this is how this would turn out...

You Are Miss Piggy

A total princess and diva, you're totally in charge - even if people don't know it. You want to be loved, adored, and worshiped. And you won't settle for anything less. You're going to be a total star, and you won't let any of the "little people" get in your way. Just remember, piggy, never eat more than you can lift!

The Muppet Personality Test

I really need to get a digital camera...

...so I can show you the ginormous mutation on my lip. (Feels like it's sucking the life force out of me, too, as I've just been dragging all week.)

No, I wouldn't do that. No one should have to look at this thing. It's almost funny to watch people notice it. Almost.

No, I want to show you what I'm seeing every afternoon as I walk to the bus. It's The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill! Is anyone outside the Bay Area even familiar with this film??

Anyway. They've started spending part of their afternoon in a park near where I work, and I gotta say, it's kinda cool to see them, flitting from tree to tree, yapping up a storm. Man, they're loud. And everyone who passes through the park stops to look at them. Nature, in the middle of this big city!

Yaay, Friday! I think there's some Two-Buck Chuck in my future...

Not funny...

Please tell me this weird dry spot on my upper lip is not the beginning of another cold sore.

Come on. Two, within, what, five weeks? If that?

Plus. I've been surrounded by sick people. There's another round of crud going around, and I notice that my sinuses are not all that happy, all of a sudden.

NOT. FUNNY.

UPDATE: Oh yeah. It's definitely a cold sore. Do I even HAVE an immune system?? Fuckin' A.

What did he know, and when did he know it?

Apparently, nothing... and apparently, just now:


WASHINGTON (AP) - President Bush was unaware of the pending sale of shipping operations at six major U.S. seaports to a state-owned business in the United Arab Emirates until the deal already had been approved by his administration, the White House said Wednesday.



Holy crap.

Extra randomy goodness!

Oh no. It's that time again. When the Cadbury Creme Eggs taunt me from store shelves and near cash registers. Whoever created these things is evil.
Yeah, I bought a couple today. They were two for a buck! I am nothing if not a bargain shopper.


Where the hell is my thumb ring? I wear a bunch of rings. Seven, most days. And last month, while I was packing for my trip to SoCal, I had all the rings in my hand one second, and the next, the thumb ring had vanished. I figured it would turn up the next time I cleaned house, or unpacked (my open suitcase was nearby when the ring disappeared). The damned thing hasn't turned up yet. (Yes, I have cleaned house several times since then. What, do you think I'm a slob or something?)
My poor thumb feels so naked.


When did butter get so expensive?? I rarely shop at "regular" grocery stores anymore. Between the food allergy issues and my budget, I spend most of my food dollars at Costco, Trader Joe's, and Rainbow, which is a local organic grocery co-op. I'm between trips to TJs and needed some butter for a sauce I wanted to make, so I stopped at the Safeway near work and found the butter I used to buy was now $5.69 a package! For plain old average BUTTER! Unfuckingbelievable.


You ever get the feeling that the universe is trying to send you a message? I decided to make myself a cake this weekend. I'd bought this gluten-free spice cake mix awhile ago, and it was so cold and dreary on Saturday, I felt like baking. To warm up the apartment, of course.
It sure smelled good while it was in the oven, but like many GF baked goods, the cake was on the dry side. So I decided to make some frosting. I mean, the cake was dry! It NEEDED frosting! (Never mind that I think cake only exists as a vessel for frosting.)

So I start with the recipe on the powdered sugar container. I don't know what the hell I did wrong there, but what turned up in that bowl resembled cottage cheese. Gray cottage cheese. Or vomit.
Tossed it.
Tried another recipe that involved 100 eggs and a whole lot of labor, and that turned out to be another disgusting mess. Tossed it and gave up for the day.
Sunday, I dipped some naked cake in my coffee, and it wasn't bad, but I still wanted to frost the thing. Again, what's the point of cake if not to have frosting??

That evening, a friend came over to my house, so in my effort to keep things tidy, I moved the naked cake from my dining room table to a spot that would be out of the way (and out of the line of any ant fire). I put it on top of my stove. Which is always pretty warm, even when it's off.
I bought some damned frosting today (when I bought the overpriced butter) and when I uncovered the cake, lo and behold, the thing is pretty much crispy on the outside. It sat on that warm stove, and what little moisture it contained evaporated with the heat.

I tossed the cake. Which is probably not such a bad thing.

Especially with the Cadbury Creme Eggs around.

Good times....*

I met this really great guy the other night.
He's really cute, with sandy brownish-blondish hair and blue eyes.
He's smart, funny, chatty, and very attentive.

I've even met his mother already.

She was in the spa chair next to me on Friday.

Did I mention that he's 3 1/2?

Yes, I am apparently a big hit with the pre-school set.

First, his fascination seemed to be focused on the water in the footbath of the spa chair, since it was blue. His favorite color, he told me.
Then he was entirely fascinated with my legs and feet. (A fetish in its early stages, perhaps??) He was "helping" the lady who did my pedicure, pretending to apply lotion (!!) and something else I couldn't quite understand, because when you're not the parent, it can be hard to decipher 3 1/2 year-old-ese.

Actually, I was kind of surprised that his mother didn't stop him from touching the strange lady in the chair next to hers, but hey, I'm not a parent. And he wasn't bothering me -- I was amused. And really glad that I'd shaved my legs the day before.

He then got his fingernails polished a pretty shade of blue (wonder if his dad's cool with that) and decided he wanted his toenails polished red, after seeing mine.

Alas, our time together came to an end, and I was left to come home to my cold apartment alone.

*heh heh

Told ya I'm immature...

You Are 18 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Tag-o-rama...

Okay, Jon... here goes....

Four Jobs I've Had: Fast-food drone (my first job, at 16), retail clothing sales drone (actually, that was a fun job...and I've never owned so many clothes in my life!), radio DJ, news editor.

Four Movies I Can Watch Repeatedly: (only four??) Shawshank Redemption, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Jerk, A Christmas Story.

Four Places I've Lived: Arlington, Virgina, Annandale, Virginia, San Diego, CA, and San Francisco.

Four TV Shows I Love: (again, only four??) Seinfeld, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, Lost.

Four Places I've Vacationed: New York City, several spots in Hawaii, Vancouver B.C., Chicago.

Four of My Favorite Dishes: Lasagna, the cheese, black olive and onion enchiladas from the Mexican restaurant in my 'hood, the noodle dish (Nan Gyi Dok) from the Burmese place in my 'hood, grilled salmon.

Four Sites I Visit Daily: Yahoo Mail, The New York Times, Dooce, and countless other blogs.

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now: Hawaii, New Zealand, France, Italy.

I am supposed to tag 4 people. Who's up for this? Let's see... Miss Sassy Hair, Miss Cheese, Chelle, and Dzer. Go!

You know you're getting older...

...when the sheet prints on your face in the morning take the better part of an hour to fade away.

EEEK. How did this happen to me? ME?

But it's all good. I have big plans this evening, to treat myself to a mani/pedi, and then order some take-out from the fabulous Burmese place next door to the salon, then to curl up on my couch in my jammies to watch more Olympic fun.

Ahhh. Friday.

Light at the end of the tunnel...

Meaning, the weekend is near.
Not just any weekend.
A three-day weekend.
Those are the best. I think every weekend should be three days long. Wouldn't we all be a lot more relaxed?

And since I not only got paid this week, but got my tax refunds, I can do a little shopping. Hallelujiah! Breathing room!

Okay, so you know the problem with working out more often? It's creating more laundry for me, and you already know how I feel about that. That's a workout in itself.

I won't complain (much), though, as my muscles are showing signs of life again, especially my quads, glutes, and abs. I even went out to walk last evening even though I was really sleepy, it was damned cold, and I had a ton of laundry to do. I just don't want to lose any momentum. I'm really happy to see (and feel) those muscles doing their thing again. Maybe it won't take me as long to get back to where I was as I thought. Whoda thunk?

This evening, Miss Sassyhair and I will be resuming our little Margarita Thursday tradition. We haven't done this since... uh.... umm... last year? Well before Christmas? It's been toooooo long.

Brrrrrrrrrrr!

It's baaaaaaaack!

Winter, I mean. It's turned chilly again. And it was awfully windy last night, which made the windows in my apartment that don't latch properly rattle a lot. Between that and whatever bit my pinky around midnight, I had a restless night.

I stopped at See's Candies on my way home yesterday (there was parking right outside! it was meant to be!), to pick up some of those little foil-wrapped chocolate hearts I like to give to my co-workers (yeah, a day late, but who's gonna complain about late chocolate?), and I cracked up when I got inside the store and saw NOTHING but men shopping there. One was even buying an $80 box of candy. I was immediately envious of his Valentine.

Olympic notes, part II

• Evgeni Plushenko: fancy footwork, or was that just a seizure on the ice? Sure looked like the latter to me...
• Stephane Lambiel of Switzerland: OH. MY. Adorable.
• Who's the guy who shouts at the American downhill skiers before their runs, to pump them up? He's hilarious. I want him to wake me up in the morning.
• I just LOVE the attitude of the snowboarders. They all seem to be having so much fun, AND are rooting for their fellow countrymen. I may not understand what the hell the commentators are talking about, but I'm thoroughly enjoying watching the 'boarders on and off the half-pipe.

Happy VD!

Ha ha ha. Bet you've never heard THAT before.


Nah, I'm not gonna whine about how irritating this day can be for us single folks. It's more fun to eat chocolate and laugh with my friends and drink wine and admire the flowers I bought for myself.

Today at work, we're belatedly celebrating the birthday of a colleague who, every year, leaves a small heart-shaped box of See's candies in the mailboxes of every woman who works here. And he never leaves notes or does anything to call attention to his generosity. Isn't that sweet?

Isn't that what this day is supposed to be about?

Olympic notes, part I

• What is the deal with speedskater Chad Hedrick's eyebrows? I didn't think good ol' boys from Texas groomed their brows... but his have the unmistakable signs of waxing or tweezing.
• LOVE the camerawork on the ski jumping. Really amazing views.
• Why does Dick Button annoy me so? I mean, he was completely right about the lame sit-spins performed by most of the pairs skaters...but still. He's so... so... irritating.
• Biathlon: why? Really. Why??
• Apolo Anton Ohno: so hot, even though I still want to shave that thing off his chin. It looks like a "landing strip." 'Nuff said.
• Why were the downhill skiing commentators SHOUTING THE WHOLE TIME? I MEAN, I KNOW IT WAS VERY EXCITING AND ALL, BUT THOSE MICROPHONES? THEY CARRY YOUR VOICE THROUGH THE TV. WE CAN HEAR YOU NOW.
• How do the downhill skiers NOT crash and burn after that first Angel jump? And how do the short-track speedskaters not crash into each other in every race?
• What the hell were they talking about during the snowboarding half-pipe competition? 1080? 900? "Fakey?" Is there really a move called the fakey?? Nothing made me feel more out of touch than listening to the commentators speaking in tongues.

One blaze of glory...

I love the Olympics. It's so compelling, watching people who've trained all their lives for a shot at the gold, knowing that most of them won't even get close to a medal. One little slip and it's all over. Or, one really great performance, and you're a legend. It's heartbreaking and uplifting all at the same time.

I really love the winter games. I just like the winter sports more (plus: SNOW!). It's more interesting to me to watch people skate really fast in a circle than it is to watch people run around in a circle. Plus, the skiiing! The moguls! Hockey! And especially... the figure skating.

I know. It's totally girly to admit how much I enjoy this sport (and do not even try to tell me it ain't a sport. YOU try it.) but I love it. In 1976, I was so enamored of Dorothy Hamill that I decided I wanted to be her. I even had the Dorothy Hamill wedge haircut at one point. No, it was not the least bit flattering (I'd show you my yearbook pic with that look, but it's too small and dark. Yeah. That's my reason.) I took skating lessons for awhile, until I was stymied by my inability to skate backwards and to perform a waltz jump (funny... I can skate backwards NOW....now that it's too late for my Olympic career....sigh.).

I like the summer games too. I mean, who couldn't love watching hunky young men in little teeny swimsuits, swimming and diving? And then...there's the gymnastics.

Actually, I don't like that as much as I did when I was a kid. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the knowledge that all those girls are starving themselves for their sport. But I do remember loving Olga Korbut in '72 and of course, Nadia Comaneci in '76. Because of them, I signed up for some gymnastics classes. Guess what? I wasn't very good, and didn't last long. The only "tumbling" move I could master was the roundoff, and everyone could do that!

You could say I was a bit of a dilettante when it came to sports. I tried a bunch. I had some skills in each one, but never enough to stand out. I played basketball more than any other sport, and I think the only reason I was any good at that is that I was taller than everyone else -- I've been 5'8" since I was 12 -- so I was really good at intercepting the ball. And I wasn't afraid of the ball, like so many girls were.

I remember one co-ed P.E. class in 7th grade in which we were playing basketball, and the asshole male coach was demonstrating the chest pass. I was his guinea pig for the demonstration. He then told us girls that if we couldn't handle that, since we're so weak, you know, we could use the overhead pass instead. I got so insulted (being the indignant middle-schooler that I was) that I chest-passed the ball back to him so hard he had to step back a few steps. Heh.

But I digress. I expect to be glued to my TV a lot over the next couple of weeks, experiencing the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, vicariously.

Drama...

Ever watch a train wreck? Or, more accurately, watch a misunderstanding in which you played a small but key role slowly (and bafflingly) snowball into something big and messy and hurtful to several people?

Yeah. Now I have.

Then I called my mom to wish her a happy birthday, and we both ended up in tears. Neither of us is speaking to my brother right now, as he's done something utterly heinous and unforgivable. That's a topic for a whole other post. Anyway. The waterworks started when she said it upset her to know that when "she's gone" (a subject that makes me want to plug my ears and sing "lalalalala, can't hear you!") that I won't have any close family to count on. I tell her I've known for years that I can't count on him, ever, and that I have other people in my life that I CAN count on (thank god).

But it's notable that she's touched on one of my big fears. Not only do I not want to even think about life after "she's gone," I worry that I will be alone for the rest of my life. That I'll be one of those older crazy ladies you see talking to anyone and everyone because she has no one else to talk to.

Then, Miss Sassyhair and I went to the theatre last night, to see Berkeley Rep's "Nine Parts of Desire," which is about women in Iraq. It was an amazing piece of solo theatre work, with one actress portraying nine very different people. And oh-so-cheery for a Friday night. I don't think we've ever been so quiet leaving a theatre, ever.

My horoscope didn't warn me that yesterday would be such an emotionally draining day.

But today, I'm listening to the Foo Fighters and U2, the sun is out, and I will be out walking in it soon.
And then I think I'll be making myself a cocktail or four.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

This is my mother.

I'm not actually sure how old she is in this picture, but isn't she adorable? Can you see those tight curls in her hair? Her pretty eyes?

I just love this picture.








This is me, at the age of 5. Wearing a dress she made for me. Velvet, even! (I love velvet, fashionable or not. Shut up.)













Notice anything?
Like, how we don't look alike? At ALL?

.

Actually, we had the same gap between our front teeth, but you can't really see hers all that well here. But it's there. It's the only way you can tell we're related, and neither of us has the gap anymore. When we're together, people inevitably ask how we know each other.

(Click here to see who I really look like.)

She's always been tall, blonde, and willowy. And I am... well, not. Okay, tallish. But not blonde (duh) nor willowy, no matter my size. Yes, I grew up with a hot mom.

My mom's definitely not had the easiest life. She had a difficult childhood, was widowed at 32, then moved with my brother and me alllll the way across the country to start a new life in SoCal. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for her.

Especially since one of her kids is me.

Now, she is far away, living on the frozen tundra that is Wisconsin, and my biggest birthday wish for her is that she doesn't have to spend another year there. And that we can toast her birthday together next year.

Isn't this always the way??

I should have known I would run into the cute guy from my bus stop while I was doing laundry, clad in crappy old shorts that are two sizes too big and highlight my very frightening Casper-white legs... and a big old ugly T-shirt.

I can't imagine why he wouldn't want to get with THIS.

It's apparently a recurring theme for me, to run into cute guys while wearing the worst laundry day clothes possible. Several years ago, the cute guy from my produce market spotted me in the laundromat, and came in all smiley to say hello, and I was so mortified by my enormous jeans and even more enormous sweatshirt that I couldn't flirt properly.

Talk about a wet blanket. (are you liking the laundry theme?)

Perhaps I should re-think my laundry day attire. But then I'd dirty up something cute, when the whole point of laundry day is to clean the slate. Right?

Spring has sprung...?

It sure feels like it, anyway. Our weather's been absolutely spectacular this week, and it's supposed to continue like this for the rest of the week. Makes it easier to get out to exercise, that's for damned sure.

Makes it harder to make excuses, too. And that's just what I need.

It's going to be a rude awakening when winter returns. And it will. It always does.

And I have never opened an issue of Newsweek faster than I did yesterday. Here's why. They even put him on the cover, up in the corner, so his mug was the first thing I saw when I opened my mailbox yesterday. Nice.

Bet you didn't know any of this..

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Terry!

1. Terry is incapable of sleep!
2. All swans in England belong to Terry!
3. Terryomancy is the art of telling the future with Terry.
4. The most dangerous form of Terry is the bicycle.
5. Owls cannot move their eyes, because their eyeballs are shaped like Terry.
6. Terry can clean her ears with her tongue, which is over thirty-nine inches long.
7. Ancient Greeks believed earthquakes were caused by Terry fighting underground!
8. Terry is born white; her pink feathers are caused by pigments in her typical diet of shrimp!
9. Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover up Terry.
10. The deepest part of Terry is over 35,000 feet deep!

I don't know why I can't get the link to work properly, so that you can do this yourself... but try this.

Sloth-o-rama...

It's no surprise to me
I am my own worst enemy...

I feel like a giant ball of mush. As if all of my muscles have atrophied during the past few months, during which I have exercised... oh.... three times? Maybe four?

Yeah, I can sit here and blame the weather, and the craziness of the holidays, and trips out of town, and my two bouts of illness... but the biggest factor of all is my own laziness. And now I'm kicking myself.

At least I still have the strength to do that.

I did Pilates for about eight years, give or take, until workers comp cut me off (Pilates was part of my rehab for a repetitive stress injury) a little more than a year ago. I loved it. I would loooove to have a Reformer and a Trap Table in my own home. Pilates completely changed my body, giving me a whole lot of core strength, flexibility, and killer thigh muscles. Not that anyone else could see this; there was still way too much ME on top of those muscles...but I could certainly see and feel the difference.

Even at times when I wasn't doing enough cardio, I always had the strength-training. And when I got cut off, I vowed I would continue to do the exercises that I COULD do without the apparatus at home.

Yeah.

I did from time to time, but I've not been the least bit discplined about it. And now I feel like I've lost all that muscle tone. All of it. I really noticed it on that drive to San Diego in November. My leg was actually sore by the end of the drive, in ways I hadn't experienced in many, many years.

And I also vowed that I would step up my walking schedule, in the absence of the Pilates.

Yeah. That didn't happen either.

And it's so stupid. I live in a great neighborhood for walking. All the routes I take include amazing views of the Golden Gate and the bay. I can tailor my routes to fit my energy level. Do I want more hills? I can add more hills. Feeling flat? I can keep it mostly flat.

Plus, I KNOW how much better I feel when I'm working out. I have more energy, I sleep better, I feel stronger, I eat less. Why is it so hard for me to get my ass out the door?

Why is it easier to keep commitments I make to other people than it is to commit to myself?

And now, since I feel like I've taken a huge slide backwards, I'm daunted by the prospect of starting over at what feels like zero. It's going to be hard. I'm going to feel sore. Waaaah.

But here I am now, publicly committing to get back on track. I took a 35 minute walk yesterday, and did some of my old Pilates stuff when I got home. I'll be up to 45 minutes by the weekend.

Seriously.

Super Sunday!

Okay, is it wrong that I found the Puppy Bowl more entertaining than the Super Bowl?

It's even funnier after a couple of glasses of wine. The Bowl Cam? The Kitty Halftime Show? Come on! That's great TV! Go click on the link and watch some of the highlights.

You know your hormones are out of whack when...

...you burst into tears at the end of this. (It's the part about finding strength. I completely relate to that.)

Okay, yeah... I'm an easy crier as it is. But JEEZ. I was catching up on"24" last night and got all weepy about something. "24," people...!!

Damn PMS.

Zip, zip zippy....

Zap zap zappy...
H-a-p-p-y, we're happy!*

Stole this from Dzer, who makes an exellent point about the nature of happiness.

So here, in no particular order, are some of the little things that make me happy...

Chocolate

The sound of a cocktail shaker

Hearing a friend laugh

Unintentionally hearing a favorite song... especially when I'm stressed out at work, and go out into the hallway, and our sister station is playing something I love


Freshly-laundered sheets


A smile from a cute, random guy


The second kiss


Holding hands


Snow, particularly if I get to see it fall


Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert


A great meal


My mom's annual day-before-my-birthday phone message, describing how she was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor in 102 degree heat the day before I was born


Amusement parks


Dancing


Pulling my Entertainment Weekly out of my mailbox on Fridays


Going to bed without setting my alarm


Browsing endlessly in a good bookstore, especially this one


Flowers


Wine country in the spring. Or the fall. Hell, winter's nice too...as long as there's no flooding


The ocean



What about you? What makes you happy?


*this one's for you, Gup!

So happy it's Friday...

Especially when I read a horoscope like this:

You are a very active person but today, TERRY, you will probably be disappointed. If you ask those around you to help you with your activities they will most likely not understand your needs. They will wonder why you need to move constantly and why you need to create. The day will therefore seem exhausting and complicated.

Does this mean that no one will come help me do my laundry? Damn. Do you not understand my needs?

I just realized this morning that this week is the first one this year in which I've worked all five days. I can't believe I've actually had that much time off, between vacations, holidays and illness. Heh. No wonder this week has felt so long...

And where the hell is my W-2? I want to file NOW, so I can have money, SOON!

Can you tell that I really have nothing of note to blog about?

Can't say I'm surprised...

News item, hot off the wires:

NEW YORK (AP) - ``Lestat'' may be looking for some fresh blood.
The Elton John-Bernie Taupin musical inspired by Anne Rice's ``The Vampire Chronicles'' has canceled its first two weeks of preview performances in New York and delayed its Broadway opening until April 25.
Choreographer Jonathan Butterell, who worked on such shows as ``The Light in the Piazza'' and the recent revival of ``Fiddler on the Roof,'' has been brought in as a creative consultant ``to provide an objective overview as it undergoes revisions,'' the producers, Warner Bros. Theatre Ventures, said Thursday in a statement.
The musical received scorching reviews during its San Francisco tryout, which ended Jan. 29. The San Francisco Chronicle called the show ``didactic, disjointed, oddly miscast, confusingly designed and floundering in an almost unrelentingly saccharine score by Elton John.'' The San Jose Mercury News sniffed, ``the vampire musical showed few signs of life.''


I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't open on Broadway at all... like "The Mambo Kings," which also had a tryout here. And then "Lennon" went on to massive changes, and then early closure. Some think there's a curse in SF...

Feelin' groggy...

But not because I had to work an early shift today. Well, there's probably some residual sleepiness from yesterday. And the fact that I am always running out of steam by Thursday. And because I am old.

No, I was out last night with Ms. Sassy Hair, seeing the fabulous Paula West. She really is fabulous. If you ever get the chance to see her, GO. No, really. Get on a plane now and get thee to the Plush Room, which is not only a great, intimate venue for singers.. but is also a purveyor of tasty cocktails. Makes for a lovely evening.

My love of standards (particularly anything written by the Gershwins, Cole Porter, and Rodgers and Hammerstein) stems directly from my childhood. I'd always thought it was solely because I'd watched countless movie musicals with mom -- she's the one who introduced me to the amazing Gene Kelly -- until one night at the symphony several years ago.

It was an all-Gershwin program, which was a delight, and naturally, included Rhapsody in Blue. This was at a time when United Airlines had co-opted the piece for its commercials, so it was impossible to have a day pass without hearing it. So I was quite stunned as I listened to the San Francisco Symphony, and a long-buried memory of my father popped into my head. I had completely forgotten that he and I used to listen to Rhapsody and An American in Paris together, and would make up stories to go along with the music. And of course, I started bawling like a baby at the memory. My ex-hub kept asking me what was wrong, and I had to keep gesturing at him to shut up because I couldn't even speak (not to mention... HELLOOO! THERE IS NO TALKING DURING THE PERFORMANCE!!). Plus, I was working hard to try to keep my eyeliner from creating long, wet streaks across my face.

Even so, I am grateful to have that memory again, and now can't help but think of him everytime I hear a Gershwin tune. S'wonderful.

Oops...

In my glee over the breaking of the fever, I failed to mention the downside: I seem to have made a co-worker sick.
That's bad for my karma, right?
Part of my penance is that I had to get up earlier than usual today, to fill in for her. Oh, joy.

But before I hauled my ass off to bed last night, I caught a couple of episodes of that new show on E! about Lisa Loeb's search for love. And the thing that struck me the most was her talking about how much she wants to get married and have kids.

I was apparently born without a biological clock. I have always been ambivalent about whether I'd have kids, and I have never felt that primal urge that so many women describe. It's just not there. Okay, there was one time I wanted to take Angela's son home, when he was a little baby, but that's really the only time I've felt that tug.

This is not to say that I don't like kids; I love my friends' kids. They're fabulous people, and I feel lucky to be able to watch them grow up. They amaze me with each new stage of their lives.

I've never been sure I'd be a good mother. I'd surely pass on all my neuroses, and who needs that? I'm also not sure I'm capable of the kind of sacrifice that's required of parents. I say it all the time -- I think parenting's the hardest and most important job there is. I honestly don't think I'm up to it.

My ex-husband suggested over and over and over again that we have children, and I am so grateful that I actually listened to my heart on that issue, as I knew we were never at a point in that mess when we were ready for that. He, of course, never seemed to understand what I was talking about, when I would say that.

What's really interesting to me now is that I've been on a couple of dates with guys who couldn't believe that I still don't know whether I want kids. One of them said to me, with great surprise in his voice, "Don't you think you should make up your mind??"

I think life is making that choice for me. And if I wanted a different answer, I'd do something about it.