Word from the DJ booth.

Tomorrow I DJ in Portland. I'm a little excited, a little nervous, and a little underwhelmed, all at the same time. I know those sound like maybe they can't all fit together, but somehow they do.

I'm tired. Wondering how I'm going to get enough sleep, wake up as early as I need to, get my work done, get down to Portland, and be rested enough to do well.

Do you get everything done you mean to?

I never do.

My list is, like, 500 things long. Maybe 600. I polish off 5 or 6 each day, or maybe 12 or 15 if it's a really good day, but then there are 12 more I hoped to get to that day but didn't and now I have to put them off for tomorrow. On top of that, another 10 came up out of the blue to add to the queue.

There are chores I've been meaning to do for nearly a decade. Would you believe that there are boxes I packed up 6 years ago that I've moved around with me from apartment to apartment, but haven't gone through in all that time? Well, if you know me well, yes, you would believe that. But still. How sad is that? I always think, "tomorrow", or "next weekend", but then somehow next weekend comes and goes and I never had any of the free time I was expecting and counting on.

It's been drought season for spare time for years now. When will it flood? What will I do when the rains come? Will the rains ever come? What I wouldn't do for a good rainstorm.

Yawn. A week and a half of work and already I feel so tired and stretched thin. I'm 200% more snappy, on a much shorter fuse than I'm used to.

I've been having bad dreams, too. Doesn't help me to feel more rested.

Or to write with any sort of flow.

Yawn.

Sometimes I have a hard time really being present in the moment I am living. Instead, I find myself caught up in something that happened two weeks ago, or something that could have been (if only this or that had gone differently), working it over and over again in my mind, chewing on it incessantly.

Why is it so hard to be here, right now, content with what I have and what is?

Susie's friend Betsi said rather succinctly in her blog the other day, "It's like playing that stupid mind game where you try really hard not to think about penguins, except in this case not only did I not think about penguins, I forgot what they were, set fire to my shirt, and mailed myself to Hong Kong."

I mean, she was talking about something totally different. But it still works for this. Doesn't it still work? Doesn't it? Except that I'm not on my way to Hong Kong, I'm still wearing my smelly old shirt, and I've got penguins on the brain. Stupid penguins.

I miss China.

7:30 AM and I am awake, without an alarm, even. What is the world coming to?

To be fair, I did sit down on the couch last night around 10:30 PM, and I crashed. Chris was watching TV and Nuvo was hoping I still planned to go dancing and we would leave soon, but I lost consciousness and didn't really regain it again until now. I mean, I moved to the bedroom at some point, but I have no memory of the journey.

Early to bed, early to rise . . . am I just getting old?

Started my new job yesterday. Thus far, I am impressed with everyone I have met. It is such a strange feeling!

I had more to say when I started the post, but I've lost it. Something about intelligent decisions, though, and meetings that address just what they need to and nothing more, and letting anyone who is at all invested in issues be involved in determining the outcome of those issues if they choose, and not wasting other peoples' time, etc, etc, etc.

Really, I'm not sure I understand. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. How can a work environment be almost entirely functional? I thought that only happened in make-believe.

Hello, blog.

. . .

I'm feeling a little shy. Shy? Maybe estranged. It's been a long time.

It's Christmas time. Not Christmas anymore, but still that time of year. Christmas, New Years, holidays, all the humdrum of daily living suspended in time for a period of weeks. January looming. Historically, societally, this is a time of "new beginnings". Joy to the world; a savior is born, time to make amends and examine past mistakes and make resolutions for better living. For me, though, this is more a time of endings.

All the major relationships I have been involved in have drawn to a close around this time. Maybe they ended a little before, maybe they dragged on for a while after, but this is when it really hit home, when I actually understood that it was over.

So it is Christmas time again, and once again a significant chapter of my life is drawing to a close. This has been a pretty momentuous chapter. Many ups, many downs. Two years of love and hate and angst and joy and elation and despair . . . a rainbow of intense emotion ranging all about the spectrum. I haven't really written a lot about this relationship, at least not in public forums. I haven't even spoken about it much except to close friends. It has been the most private relationship I've been involved in. And now it is changing.

Maybe it's all the same, really. Endings, beginnings. You can't have one without the other. One thing passes on that there may be something new. The snow melts so that fresh seedlings might push through the ravaged earth.

I've been crying a lot. I'm sad, but I'm somehow happy in my sadness. Sad in my happiness.

A Bulgarian friend shared a New Years tradition wherein she baked a Bulgarian dish with several tin-foil wrapped fortunes embedded in each slice. Six of us ate together, digging through the layers of noodly dough to find our predictions. I got "Money", "Win from the lottery", and "Finding the lost happiness". She said that if we kept the fortunes, they would come true for us in this new year.

The person I am now wants to childishly believe in fortunes and fate and magic. I whimsically taped these three strips of paper into my wallet so that they would be close to me, so that they could come true.

Money and the lottery have yet to come. Perhaps I will make money when I become a professional gambler, or as I move into a career in massage, or when I complete some things I have been writing. Or maybe I'll become a porn star, famous the world over, rolling in dough. Or maybe it will simply result from winning the lottery. I certainly won't win the lottery, however, until I begin playing the lottery.

But maybe I am on my way right now to finding The Lost Happiness?

When I first read this particular fortune, I thought that maybe it meant that I would find happiness this year [. . . with him].

Now, though, I wonder if I might mean that I will find again some sort of happiness that has been lost in all the drama of these last two years. Perhaps, this year, I may become happy again in a different way.

I mean, I will always be moody and self-involved and angsty, balancing on a rickety teeter-totter moving up and down from one mood to another. I thrive on that up and down and all over the place roller-coaster ride. It feeds a well of inspiration and creativity deep within my core and makes me ultimately feel more alive and engaged.

But in the past, despite this penchance for ups and downs and ins and outs, I have also been happy on some more stable, continuous level, in a way that I haven't been in recent times.

I've had great happiness in recent years. But it has been a slightly different shade, you know? It's like there were a few crayons that fell out of the box and got lost under the bed, and the pictures I've made with the remaining crayons have still been amazing, but I could make other pictures that are differently amazing were I to find those lost crayons again. Not better. Not worse. But different, in a way that has been in the past, but has not been in recent times, for me.

What a mess of words! And I still don't think I've really done justice to what I feel, what I am trying to communicate. Stupid, stupid words. I never have the right ones. They're all lost under the bed or something. This is why I draw pictures, generally, instead of writing.

Anyhow -

I feel right now that my fortune may come true, but in a different way than I had thought.

I've written before that I'm not the sort to deal well with closure. I don't read the last few chapters of books. I fall asleep during movies. I pretend in my head that everything always has been and always will be just as it is right now in this moment. I am terrified of change.

In spite of this fear, I am trying to gracefully let go.

So things are coming to a close.

It is time. It is right - I feel this deep within.

I have felt it for a while, but I didn't know what it was. Now I do. I know. I understand. I will accept.

I will face my fear and embrace change.

Goodbye, 2005.

Goodbye, love of these last two years. I wish you great happiness, and I will always cherish what we have shared. You have been a pivotal force in my life. I look forward to knowing you going forward on different terms - having you as a friend, being a friend, learning to draw lines together in order that we might grow something fresh and beautiful within them.

. . .

Endings leave space for new beginnings. What new things will come?

bugs

i cleaned all the bugs out of our kitchen light fixture today. now it is shiny and light shines freely through the glass. i wish everything defiled, disarrayed,
 debased,
  decayed

could be so easily made functional and new again. unblemished, unsullied, uncontaminated, unpolluted, unimpaired. unbroken.

Tonight, for the first time in years, I went to a grocery store and spent several hours planning upcoming meals and comparison shopping to get the best deals. I tracked everything I picked up and put it in my cart so that I had a reasonable expectation of what the final tally would be when I hit the register.

I've gotten so into the habit over the years of spending without thinking. Once upon a time I was good at being aware of my finances and of being . . . not necessarily miserly, but economical and thrifty. These days, my money slips away like wet sand scooped up from under an ocean tide slips through the cracks in my fingers. The more I make, the easier it is to spend it all without thinking. But when I make less, I still keep spending at the same rate.

Did I mention that I'm between jobs again?

On the bright side, I have plenty of time to tackle tasks I've been sitting on for years (going through my belongings, trimming down on possessions, mending, selling old text books).

On the other bright side, I have this opportunity, right here and now, to practice budgeting. And I have time to do things like cooking for myself, which make budgeting a little easier. I love to eat out. I love to eat exotic foods. Unfortunately, this is an expensive habit, which accounts for an overly large percentage of the money that I regularly spend.

The dim side of this other bright is that I do not have a lot of leeway, and it's not so much an opportunity as a necessity. All the sides form a triangular creature with a very shadowy bottom.

If I recreate good spending and eating and cooking habits now, maybe I can continue them as I find a new job and start making more money again. This will in turn lead to savings (once debts have been paid off). Savings! Something I had, once upon a time, but have not had for some time. Savings would be so nice.

I'm back from Montreal, from Cyprus, from Portland, from San Francisco, from Argentina, from New York. Home again.

It is damn cold here. Especially in my apartment.

One roommate bailed while I was away. He is gone off to someplace better. Someplace worse? Who knows. Someplace else.

The other simply . . . neglected to turn our rent payments in.

In the meanwhile, all the heaters in our apartment have stopped working. But we don't really have grounds to complain, seeing as we haven't paid rent.

I'm cold. Still a little sick. And did I mention cold? It is so, so cold and wet in Seattle right now, and so very cold in our basement apartment. I mean, maybe Antarctica is colder than this, but I can't imagine it is by much.

Out of desperation, I have resorted to desperate but ingenuous means of heating my immediate space.

On the desk next to me sits my toaster. I push the button. It heats up for a bit. The timer goes off, UP! it pops, and I press the button again.

On the floor behind me sits the tea kettle, still full of scalding hot water. It set off my smoke detector a few minutes ago; Apparently smoke detectors do not like steam.

Smoke detectors without batteries, however, raise no alarms.

My smoke detector now is calm and quiet. Let us hope my apartment does not catch on fire tonight.

On the desk, also, is a cup of tea. I will imbibe it in an attempt to warm myself from the inside out.

Thinking warm thoughts. Coldbegone! Warm, warm, warm.

Kathryn and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
(I think I'll move to Australia.)

NEVER, ever, ever buy tickets that include multiple stops on "Partner Airlines". I won't, anyhow. And I'll avoid American Airlines in the future, if I can at all help it.

1. I buy a ticket to Montreal from Alaska Airlines. Multiple stops. Partner Airlines.
   
   --> Seattle to San Francisco: leave 7:00 PM, arrive 9:00PM, on Alaska Airlines.
   --> Transfer in SFO to a 9:30 PM Delta flight to JFK.
   --> Transfer at JFK to an 8:36 AM flight on American Eagle to Montreal.
   
   Strange and convoluted? Yes. But it's cheap, so I buy it.


2. Arrive at the Airport with almost 2 hours to spare. Spend 20 minutes in (one of many) lines of approximately 5 people waiting to check in at one of Alaska's e-ticket machines.


3. Get to the machine, run my name and information, only to find that it only lists and seems to understand the initial flight to SFO.


4. The machine times out while I am trying to catch the attention of an attendant.


5. Each subsequent attempt with the machine results in an error stating: Our computer system is experience difficulties. Please speak with an attendant.


6. Spend another 15 minutes trying to flag one of the attendants down.


7. Find out from the attendant that the machine believed it had actually checked me in to both of the first two flights, even though it had never listed the second or the third leg, and had printed no passes. She prints me a pass for the first leg, but is unable to print me anything for the second, and can't even check me in for the third. "You'll have to do it with those airlines in those cities, because they are partner flights."


8. I get through security unexpectedly fast, hardly even 10 minutes. Surprising since checking in alone took nearly an hour.


9. I get to my gate and wait patiently for the flight. After some time has passed, they board us all.


10. Everyone seated, we sit at the gate. And wait. And wait. They announce over the loudspeaker that the mechanics heard a noise at the baggage door and need to check it out. Fortunately there is a tail wind, the pilot says, so we'll be able to make up time in the air.


11. Another announcement over the speakers: the mechanics can't get at the problem, so we have to de-board the plane. It is now 7:30. We don't know when we'll be allowed to re-board. There is no way I'm making the connecting flight in SFO.


12. I join half the flight in line, waiting to talk to one of the agents.


13. After waiting 10 minutes, the line has gone nowhere. There are still at least 20 people ahead of me. I abort, and walk over to talk to an agent at a different gate. She advises me that I can either, "Wait in that line over there (the one I just left) or go to the customer service counter." Hmm. I can wait in line to find out when I can next get to San Francisco; not my final destination, and certainly not in time for my connecting flight. . .or. . .not. I opt for not.


14. The customer service line is rather short. I am talking to an agent within 5 minutes. Unfortunately, as I am flying partner flights, he is not able to help me on his own. He does not have that sort of power. He calls a line for the partner help desk, and sits on hold waiting to speak to someone there.


15. 15 minutes later, he reaches someone. She and he talk back and forth, she asking questions, he passing them on to me, then passing my answers back to her. . . eventually he just hands the phone to me so that I can talk to her directly.


16. She's looking for flights, and asks to put me on hold for just a minute while she checks something out.


17. 15 minutes later, I am still standing at the customer service counter, phone at my ear, on hold.


18. 30 minutes later, I am still on hold.


19. 45 minutes later, I am still on hold. This is getting old.


20. Finally the lady comes back. She asks, "Can you just fly out tomorrow?" I Inform her that I am flying out for an event that happens tomorrow. She asks me to give her back to the agent at the desk.


21. He nods, listens, nods again, listens, nods again. Hangs up.


22. Apparently there is a different Delta flight that flies directly from Seattle to JFK, in time for me to make my connecting flight to Montreal. He has been given clearance to switch my ticket over, so he calls the Delta agents to make the change.


23. The Delta agents don't answer.


24. He tries to make the change himself. He purchases the new ticket, but isn't able to complete the transaction because he can't off my seat on the original flight out of San Francisco. He tries and tries. Time goes by. He's tired and cranky, as everyone at the counter is getting off their shift and leaving, and he would like to as well.


25. He tries Delta again and finally gets through. Explains the problem to the girl on the other end, only to have her tell him, "Oh, my shift is over. I'm off. Let me transfer you."


26. He explains again, to the next agent. I'm not the only one getting the runaround.


27. Finally, he gets them to off the ticket and gets everything through. I'm now flying directly from Seattle to JFK, arriving at 7:30, in time to make my 8:36 flight out to Montreal. Because the new flight is a partner flight, he can't actually check me in - he gives me a paper ticket, and tells me that I have to go back out through security and check in at the main Delta departures desk.


28. Thank goodness I didn't check any baggage - otherwise this would be a bigger mess than ever.


29. The Delta desk is way the hell down there. I make the long trek, still in a reasonably good mood. After all, I will still make my final destination at the originally scheduled time. So what that I just spent over two hours in line. Everything will work out.


30. "Good news!," the Delta agent tells me. "If you are willing to help out in case of emergency, I can give you a seat in an emergency row with the row all to yourself."
    
    "I could deal with that!" I say, feeling quite glad at the change of tide.
    
    . . .
    
    "Oops. I must have been looking at the wrong plane," the agent mumbles. "There are only middle seats available.


31. The Delta guy can see my next flight, the leg to Montreal, but guess what? He still cannot check me in for it, "as it is a partner flight." Surprise surprise.
    
32. On my way back through security, it turns out that I have been "randomly selected" to be hand searched. They paw through my bags, wand me, pat me down. They are confounded at the concept of body jewelry. What, this is Seattle. Has nobody ever come through security with piercings before?


33. Security cleared, I make my way to the new gate and wait 2 hours for the flight.


34. Boarding! On my way!


35. The moment I sit down, the guy next to me starts talking and talking. Are you married, he asks. Where do you live? What do you do? He tells me all about himself. 26 years old. From Africa. A preacher. Lives in North Carolina. Was in Alaska. Is going to Louisiana to visit a cousin. Maybe he could stop and see me next time he comes to Seattle? I tell him I won't be here, because I am moving to Europe and getting married. The conversation abruptly dies, as I no longer seem a viable target to him.


36. New York! Here I am! Ready for the next leg of my flight.


37. If you have the poor luck to have a transfer between different airlines at JFK, you may have to go to a different terminal. And there is no way to travel between terminals without leaving the secure area and having to go through security again at the next terminal. And yes, Delta and American Eagle exist in different terminals. I leave the Delta gate, at terminal 3, and start booking it over to American Eagle in Terminals 8 and 9.


38. Having arrived at Terminals 8 and 9, I try to check in at one of the automated machines.


39. The automated machines don't seem to recognize Montreal as a valid destination city. They also do not recognize my flight number.


40. I hear a boarding call for my flight over the loud speaker. I am still not checked in. No boarding pass, so I can't go through Security.


41. "Excuse me," I tell a lady at the desk, "they're boarding my flight and I need a boarding pass." She tells me there's no way I'm going through.
    What?? The flight doesn't leave for 25 minutes. I don't even have bags to check. In a normal airport, where you don't have to exit security and travel way the hell somewhere else, I would have been fine.
    
    "You won't even let me try to make it?"
    
    She does not look inclined. "Are you checking anything?," she asks.
    
    "No," I say.
    
    "Well, that's something," she says, but then still will not give me a pass. She directs me to wait in line and get a spot on the next flight.
    
    Her peer next spot down wants to give me a pass, but she overrules him.


42. Turns out the line that the Nazi agent directed me to is actually only for people traveling to Miami. I find this only after having waited for 15 minutes.


43. I finally find the line I am supposed to be in. It is not marked any differently than the other line. There's nothing to distinguish it. Except that it is in a different part of the room, and it is longer. I wait, and wait, and wait.


44. The agent I finally get in this line is even more short and curt than the last. She yells at me for the other airlines having had the audacity to think that 85 minutes layover time would be enough to make a connection. I mean, geez! Idiots! It only works like that in a normal airport. (Note: I must remember to never, ever, ever make connections at JFK again.)


45. The ticket she hands me has no seat assignment. She says I can give my seat preferences at the gate and get my seat assigned there. I am glad to be done with her, so I leave.


46. Lucky, lucky me - I have again been "randomly selected" for extra security screening.
    
    Really, though, what is up with their algorithms? This will be my third time in 10 hours going through security. I have never left any of the airports. I still have the same baggage.
    
    Wouldn't they be better served if their random algorithms more often chose people going through security for the first time, rather than selecting people on a middle leg of their flight? Who's to say that, if I had something I shouldn't have had, I wouldn't have left it IN the secure zone BEFORE coming out, so that it would still be there when I went back in?


47. The girl with the wand has even more trouble with my piercings. She cannot understand the genital piercing, and is not sure what to do with it. I think she wants to pat me down, but isn't sure if it is appropriate. Instead, she keeps wanding my crotch. Finally asks a peer, who sort of pats down the front of my crotch with the back of her hand, and then they let me be. I ask if I can put my shoes back on, and sit down to wait for my bags.


48. I wait and wait. Nobody is talking to me. They still have my stuff and my ticket.


49. One of the other women directs me to take my bags and move down to sit next to her. She opens up a binder and starts writing. Asks for my passport. Writes some more. "You don't have a seat?," she asks, looking at my ticket suspiciously. I shake my head in affirmation, and she continues writing.
    
    "Do you, uh, fill out this form for everyone you hand-screen?," I ask.
    
    No, they do not. Apparently my laptop failed the screening, so they have to document me. How did it fail? I have no idea. It turns on when you open it. It is a laptop. It does not do drugs. It passed all the other screenings, including the manual screening at SeaTac. But now I am on record as having a laptop at JFK that failed.


50. Finally, security allows me to leave, and I start the trek to the gate. I call Jon to let him know what's up and to vent about my experiences so far, and mid-conversation my phone dies. Figures.


51. There is nobody at the gate. But the flight doesn't leave for another 3 hours, so that is to be expected. I try to get a seat assignment from somebody at a nearby gate, but she says she is not an agent so I should try someone else. I find an agent two gates further down, but, in a grumpy manner, she tells me she will not help me and the people for my flight will be at my gate an hour before the flight. This is the third American agent today who is all curt and rude, as if she's got a stick up her butt. 3 out of 3. What is their problem, all of them? Does American Airlines treat their employees as poorly as they treat their customers?


52. I camp out at my gate and wait. And wait. And wait.


53. I open up my computer and write this post to vent steam. But wait! There is no wireless internet! No wireless internet! This is JFK. New York City. An urban hub. What airport in the 21st century does not have wireless in its terminals? Well, apparently JFK. WTF.


54. They are telling people on the flight ahead of me that they will only be able to fly 25 people due to a "weight restriction". There are 37 people with tickets, so 12 of the people without assigned seats will not get to go. On a 50-seater plane. Stupid American Airlines. With my luck, that will happen on my flight as well. And guess who still doesn't have an assigned seat; that's right - me.


55. Watching them deal with all the disgruntled people from the previous flight who are not allowed to fly, I feel a little unsettled. I go up to the gate to try again for my seat assignment, so that the same thing will not happen to me.
    
    But -
    
    Surprise!
    
    Why there is no seat assignment? The agent who gave me the ticket told me she had put me on the flight, but she actually put me on stand-by. Great. Thanks. And thanks for telling me.


56. I wait and wait. Several other people on the same flight were surprised to find that they are actually on stand-by, as well. We all wait together.


57. I try to find someone to talk to. My flight leaves in 30 minutes (well, hopefully my flight, since I still do not have a seat), but there is nobody at the counter. Apparently they forgot to staff the counter for this flight.


58. The pilot and flight attendant hanging out at the counter are frustrated and annoyed also at the lack of attendants working to board our flight. The flight attendant goes to complain to the attendants working at a nearby gate.


59. One of the attendants at that gate decides to come and work ours, since whomever was assigned to work ours (was anyone assigned?) is apparently not coming.


60. I talk to the stressed out attendant trying to pull everything together at a counter that is not hers, and finally eek out from her that, yes, I am on standby, and I must wait until the flight is boarded to find out whether or not I can go.


61. They board the flight. Everyone - pilot, flight attendant, gate attendant, other standbys - is stressed out and unhappy. The other standbys and I continue to wait.


62. The flight is boarded. Still waiting.


63. Still waiting.


64. Success! They allow me on. They allow two other of the standbys on. The third is out of luck. Poor girl. I feel for her, but I am glad to be done with this farce.


65. After a bumpy flight on a tiny, old, beat up plane, I arrive in Montreal at last. Finally! An end to my travels. The first leg at first, and future legs are on different airlines.

So, here I am, online at last and publishing this post. And vowing to myself once again to never, ever fly American Airlines again, if I can help it, and to avoid itineraries involving partner flights, and to never connect through JFK.

Or maybe I'll just move to Australia.

My mommy made the papers again.

Cash-balance plans change rules of game, Minneapolis Star Tribune, September 26, 2005.

I retook the Dante's Inferno Test to see if anything has changed from my old results. Here's what it finds for me these days:

---

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Moderate
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

---

Still violent! But down from Extreme to Very High. Lustful and heretics both jumped a bit, but gluttonous; wrathful and gloomy; and fraudulent, malicious, panderers all dropped just as much. And I'm hardly treacherous at all anymore! Overall, all trends taken into consideration, it appears I am a bit less of a sinner these days. How's that apple pie?

My total score on the Basic Physics Savvy Quiz was 62.5%. What is yours?

Now there're all these cameras
focused on my face
You would think that they could see it through my skin
Looking for evil
Thinking they could trace it
but evil don't look like anything
evil don't look like anything

Still to come, once I sit down and get writing:

• China - the ins, the outs, and the inbetweens.
• The great sickness and the long hospital stay.
• Battle waged with Muliono's computer virus, and my stunning tactical victory.

Yeah. All that and more, still to come. Really. Wait and see.

Car-B-Que...man. Brian is a riot. I miss his blog.

Time for a Car-B-Que

$900 to fix my car. Both the power steering well and the pump need to be replaced, and that apparently takes a long time and lots of effort.

According to the blue book, the trade-in-valude of my 1999 Ford Taurus, in its current state (broken) is. . .$0.

The trade in value, assuming it is in decent drivable condition, is between $2300-$2900.

So, for a mere $900 out of pocket, I am increasing its worth by at least another $1400. Looked at in this way, I'm getting a great deal. . .right?

Ha.

I hate going out to eat with foreign folk who grab the check, as they often seem to tip poorly. I mean, not necessarily foreign, but people in general who tip for #$%#. Which is often foreign people. But not always. I worked in food service once, yo. I know how sucky it is to get shafted on tips, so I try to always tip well, unless service was particularly poor.

But when I'm out with someone else, and they grab the check, and they're doing the tipping, but they're hardly even tipping 10%...

I dunno. I could confront them. Which I do sometimes. I could covertly leave some extra tip on the table, which I have also done. It's not the end of the world or anything. I just hate being in that position in the first place.

A Sad Day in the World of Kathy

My car is dying.

Last week, it started making noises. Whenever I turned the wheel it wailed like a dying manatee. Whooooooooeuuuuuuuuuuuu. Whoooooooooeuuuuuuuuuuu. I brought it in to a mechanic who checked the power steering fluid, looked at it briefly, and said, "Ford power steering pumps have a tendancy to get noisy when they get older. That's all it is. Nothing to worry about," and sent me home.

A few days later, the power steering stopped working entirely. I mean, you can sort of steer the car. When it is moving. If you use all your strength, and are content with the worst turning radius ever.

If you want to get into or out of parallel parking... well, it's an adventure.

There was no place to bring the car the last several days, being a holdiday weekend and all, but I dropped the car off at the shop this morning. (A different shop, a different mechanic. This one highly rated by the folks at car talk.)

I don't have an estimate yet, but the mechanic thinks it will be expensive.

The blue book says the trade in value for my car is somewhere between $2300 and $2900. Retail value is around $6000, but I assume it would be much more difficult to sell it for retail value?

So here are the big questions weighing on my mind: at what point, in the case of expensive repairs, is it no longer worth it to shell out for the repairs? How expensive is too expensive? What do you all do when your cars get old and start dying?

Does anyone else find it even slightly amusing that blogger's spell checker does not recognize the word "blog"?

I have determined that tampons somehow aggravate my cramping. A quick web search determined that I am not the first woman to notice this relationship, either. What about it? Maybe the extra pressure against my cervix. Maybe the bleach or other chemicals used in the tampon production. Who knows. Whatever the case, the cramping seems much worse when a tampon is in, and markedly better when out (although it never goes away completely).

So. Messy, or extraordinarily painful - these appear to be my choices. I've never been that neat a person anyhow.

You know what bothers me most about pads, though?

Maybe you didn't want to know what bothers me most about pads. Or about tampons aggravating my cramping. But you're here, and you're reading my blog, and if you're going to continue to read, I'm going to continue to write. That's the way it used to be, and, uh, the way it will be again. At least for the next two minutes.

What bothers me most is the smell.

Maybe I am extra sensitive to it, because it is my smell. When I mention it to close friends, they say they can't smell it. Here is what one FAQ I found had to say about the issue:

Does menstrual fluid really smell bad?

It definitely has an odor. Menstrual fluid starts to smell when it is in contact with air. So a pad you have been wearing all day at school can get pretty strong smelling. Also, you might find that the fluid that comes at the end of your period has a stronger smell than the more liquid flow at the beginning.

You may be able to smell your menstrual fluid, but don't worry, other people will not. Think about it, have you ever smelled a woman's menstrual blood when standing near her? Probably not, even though there are menstruating women everywhere you go.

Wash with mild soap and water every day of your period if you are worried about it.

Regardless, when I am wearing pads, I start to smell. . .old blood. Slightly metallic. Warm. Earthy, maybe. But very, very distinct. And I get to feeling that everyone around me can smell it. And if they aren't aware they can smell it, their bodies can still and they then can sense it, and then we all relate to each other slightly differently.

So it's not so much a choice of messy or painful, then, but a choice of painful or smelling of. . .this smell, that I cannot adequately describe.

But what choice is there, really? I'm fed up with all the bloody cramping - lying around, curled up in the fetal position, half-coherent, feeling as if my insides were slowly being ripped out by some unseen hand.

Anyone want some free tampons?