good things about today:

1. jennie mailed me her signature halloween ghost cookies, individually saran-wrapped to keep from staleness.
2. living in the burbs means i can walk home (reading Atwood mind you) behind a dad and 6-year old pink fairy princess skipping through the leaves
3. working on saturday mornings means i walk through the meadows during little league football games as the sun rises over arthurs seat and the shallows of mist disapate.
4. i make a mean peanut thai
4a. even if said thai must be made with marked down meager turkey rather than satisfying succulent chicken breasts. at least i am old enough now i do things like notice my protein intake.

fuck you and your eve-bashing bullshit man

i almost fainted behind the till today.

tuesday it was funny to everyonei was getting hot flashes and we all debated whether it was pregnancy or menopause.

wednesday i wondered at my lethargy and desire to eat a wheat wrap (the other ingredients consisting solely of honey.)

and somehow it still baffled me to no end when thursday afternoon rolled around i turned white as a sheet, broke into a cold sweat, and my eyes began to blur so much so i wimpered in public and almost threw up on a customer as my innards had an all out WWE match in my abdomen.

i should know my cycle better than this by now. i should not be surprised by crippling pain and dizzy spells that could kill someone with an inner ear problem.

but somehow it always surprises me i can stand at work looking normal to the outside world and be slowly dying inside - truly believing a knife to my kidney would at least release some of the pressure and blood blockage.

this is hell.

if there was a god and i wasn't already on not-speaking terms with it, this pms shit would be a deal breaker.

at least my broken debilitated self on the staff lounge sofa got an endearing hand from the cute guy. let it never be said my hormones are hindered by biological handicap even under humiliating duress.

my god.

i have totally just instigated an email flirtation with a hot young scottish author.

i know this is pre-emptive ( i am a bit drunk considering it's 9pm, happy hour does that to the best of us), but i met him a couple weeks ago at one of his readings, sent a promising but cautious email to his website today about his next reading, and totally got two emails back today offering a coffee date in flirtatious reply within an hour.

may it never be said my whorish ways don't pay off.

well, let's not put the tail before the head if i may be so bold. still, promising is good. not a sure thing, but good.

a league of my own

i have to be honest, i don't really like the all american past time.

i didn't like playing right field in doubleheaders. i didnt like peeling off my pads and seeing dust soaked like tanlines into my skin. i didnt like being told what i was doing wrong by an overweight middle-aged guy who stood in the shade the whole time as if he knew what it was like.

as a viewing sport, it is the sheer novelty of minor league games such as a big wheel race after the 3rd and more junk food than is good for you that make it a tolerable social outing.

i am glad to be in a country where the national sport is acknowledged to be ridiculous and at least the outfits are better. a Ned in a white varsity sweater is far better than kneesocks and ballcap Jimbo's the world over.

but all this dirty pessimism of course doesn't negate the greatness of a unifying cause and the rush of singing the national anthem 5,000 voices strong.

i just don't see the need to watch it on television. especially at dawn on a tuesday. baseball is of course, not shown on any of the 4 BBC channels, even if it is the astros first world series. which means my only option is to watch a live cast on the MLB website at phils house (avid Jays fan that he is, he's subscribed to the whole season. freak.) - which is 1:05 am on Grenwich Mean Time.

suffice to say, i don't think my love of the game outweighs my love of sleep even with hot dogs and beer thrown in.

well, ask me again at the football post-season.

dampened spirits

I read once Lansing came a close second to Seattle for cloudiest city in America. This was the odd sort of trivia that comes up in barchats and although not a point of pride, at least I knew something about my hometown if not the population size or name of my senator.

But after much research, I've found every po-dunk town in Scotland is far and away grayer and wetter.

Now it feels like Lansing won the runner-up honorable mention ribbon at the Rain Olympics. Will we never be rid of the" gimpy kid of capitals" image?

i got nothing.

i am without a costume.

every year i do this - granted, usually i have another week to procrastinate. as a kid i would cry and then pull something random out of my closet as my parents threatened to leave for the candy pilaging without me. but now there isnt even a sugar high and the promise of bartering more seriously undertaken (sometimes for days) than any monopoly railroad trade.

and as much as i'd like to complete the "maurice" third along with my cohorts "the space cowboy", "the gangster of love" and our hanger-on "joker", i don't feel up to the amount of banter maintence such a choice requires.

why can't it just be another weekend of "buy two get one free" screw-top wine?

yo bitch

so due to the lameness of Blogspot, I was required to start this account just for the priviledge of posting on my friends blogs. who said the internet was a freespeech zone?

anyway, yeah.

i doubt i will post in here since i already have 3 d-x accounts and i feel dirty just typing this.... though i must admit the thrill of host-cheating is intoxicating, Hollywood was right.

Maybe I'll become a serial blogger. Maybe Blogspot will become as necessary as breathing and secret trysts will be arranged on anonymous servers and in strange internet cafes. But d-x might find out. Blogspot will threaten to tell, jealous of sharing my inestimably clever rants. Eventually I'll shoot Blogspot in the bathtub, a final end to a sordid affair.

I never should have let this happen. You owe me Rutledge.