I don't really have anything to update about, but that's boring. I suppose there are a few updates in my life but they're all pretty egocentric and have nothing to do with society at large. Therefore, I will make up updates and you will like them.

On Monday I discovered an island. I was at my office, and I decided to take a walk down to Quiznos to get some forty cent ice tea. Random thought: would 50 Cent the rapper but less hip if he called himself 40 Cent? Anyway, I tripped on my way down the stairs and instead of landing on metal and people, I landed on a stretch of forested dirt surrounded by a lake of Champagne. The natives were all dressed in Armani and had really sharp haircuts. I felt quite out of place in my deceptively sized pants (sooo not the size the tag says they are) and "wear to work" top I got at Target for $3. I looked up and asked them if they had 40 cent ice tea, and they told me that in their land, ice tea costs $15. They picked me up off the ground and kicked me back into the lobby. And that's how I ended up with stains all down my front. Don't listen to those naysayers who swear it was because they saw me drop a chili dog.

Yesterday morning I grew a third arm. I swear it's true! When I woke up this morning it was gone.

Tomorrow I'm going to change my name. I know, I know, I didn't even legally change my name when I got married. (Seriously---why do people just expect that a woman should do that? Maybe I expect that a man should always be 6'1" and buff and bring flowers everyday and he will have a voice like Josh Groban. That just goes to show you where your expectations will get you.) But tomorrow I will change my name. I'm going to be Bryan. And Bryan is going to be Stephanie. Oh...he doesn't know this yet. Let's make it surprise.

Oooh! Also, I started an organization. I can't believe I haven't blogged, what with all these new updates. I'm starting an organization where people can sit around, drink coffee, and whine about people who whine. Won't that be fun? Half an hour of each meeting will be devoted to talking about how we're so much better than everyone else. And the laugh half hour will be about how we should be the ones in charge of running things. We eat soup, in addition to drinking coffee. Membership costs $20. You should probably just mail it to me now.

Yesterday when moving my car, I noticed the prndl stick was sort of sticky. It was difficult to switch from Park to Reverse to Drive. It's been slowly getting sort of difficult to move, and I don't drive my car very often anymore, so I assumed it was gunked up and I'd just lube the heck out of it. Today I tried to start the car, and surprise, nothing happened. The electrical system was working, but the brake wouldn't really depress. I wonder if one of the cables or sensors connecting the brake to the gearshift has been declining (rusting?) and the non use sped that up. Anyway, the point is that I can't turn my car on, so I'm going to have someone come give me a hypothetical diagnosis and see if it's anything we can fix by simply rehooking a line or something. If not, I will get it towed to the dealership where I will proceed to drop a shitload of money into the car to get it operable again.

Thank God Garvin and I are carpooling right now.

I'm aggravated because I'm still making payments on my car. I know that maintenance and repairs are a part of car ownership, so that's not what bothers me. The car's actually been pretty good. Still---it sucks to sink money into something not fully paid off. I will continue to throw money at it until the frame falls apart, or I have to shove it off a bridge for insurance money, because this whole car payment thing is just not fabulous and when I'm done I want to put it off as long as possible.

Also, we found a plum tree in our yard, and two days later the plum tree fell over. Skip and Bryan hacked it up today with an axe. Easy come, easy go? I liked that tree, and now we'll need to find something else to support our grapevine, since the grapes were growing into the tree. The grapes are just starting to form, and I don't want to bruise them. Stuffed grape leaves, anyone?

I played Wii fit for the first time today, and it was fun, although the Wii is rather judgmental. It makes you set weight goals! Seriously? No. I made my goal to not change for a year, even though it yelled at me that my BMI is sickly and shrunk my Mii to an atrophied little stringbean. Wii fails to take into account the three body types. I resent the video game assuming I'm a mesomorph.

First society, now Wii fit! Uncool, dudes.

Here's how I imagine this whole rebellion thing got started:

Some dudes were sitting around on the docks one night after partaking of some of this country's fine "tobacco" cop. Have you ever wondered if "tobacco" is a euphemism for "marijuana?" Imagine that it is.

Dude one: "Maaan, my stomach doth feel the acheth of emptiness. Dost thou knwoest of a Taco Bell nearby?"

Dude two: "Thou art trippin, good Sir. Taco Bell has not been invented yet."

Dude one: "Surely this dock must harbor a delicious import from afar. Here! What is in this crate?"

Dude two: "Tea."

Dude one: "TEA?! Nay, I requireth something gooey and melty. What lies in yonder crate?"

Dude two (giggling to himself); "Tea."

Dude one: "Silence! Heeeeey....what if we, liketh, dumped ALL the tea into the harbor? Then we could bath our musky, unwashed colonial bodies in it and we could, liketh, ABSORB THE TEA?!"

Dude two (collapsing into laughter): "Awww, man....let's doeth it!"


The rest is history.
If it HAD happened like this, I'm pretty sure I would have paid more attention during fifth grade social studies.

Now that it has been made both official and semi-public, I'm very excited to announce that Skip and Jen are engaged! For those not in the know, Skipper is my little brother, and Jen is one of my cherished lady friends. Skip's had sort of this creepy, stalkerish crush on her since he was ten, and now they're going to march down the aisle. Or elope. Either way, I've decided they are going to buy one of the houses on our street and we will all have regular cook outs. Also, when Steve escapes we can call them and say "hey! Keep your eyes out for Steve!" And then Jen and I will open a yarn store, and Skip and Bryan will offer computer services and sandwich makins. Or maybe we'll all just move to Appalachia.

Changing subjects, a few months ago I attempted to call Bryan on his Skype number and connected with a very nice woman in Arizona. Apparently he'd switched numbers and I was not aware of it. She and I had a lovely conversation about how she used in live in Ohio, and I hung up feeling very connected. I'd forgotten all about it until last night, when I received THREE phone calls at four a.m. All from the old Skype number. I'm not sure what happened, but maybe she saw that I'd attempted that number frequently in the last month and she was calling to find out who the heck it was. It would make since, because of the time zone difference. Still, I answered twice and got nothing. Then I put my phone on silent and I missed one last call. I'm sure she got my voice mail and thought "oh, silly me, it's that nice lady I spoke with last month." Still---I am very tired now.

I have Jerome and Harold snuggled up on my lap, and my arms are stretched over them to type. Jerome is grooming Harold (she thinks he's her baby. Or boyfriend. I'm never sure with cats) and Harold is licking my arm. Thank goodness I haven't waxed it recently, because in case you were not aware, cats tongues are really scratchy.

Last night Garvin had to rush straight to a rehearsal dinner for SCO-double-tizzle's wedding, so we decided to take separate cars to work. He ended up staying out with the menfolk all Friday while I got to go to Lovell's going away party all by myself in Cleveland Heights. I had a really good time. I don't always get a lot of time to myself, and while I enjoy spending time with Garvin, it was a perfect night to rock out my Pegasus Friday t-shirt at a small bar in a nice part of town, than take a long, beautiful drive home through the city and its ritzier suburbs with my windows down and the mild weather pouring, the Beatles playing on my radio. Also, while at the party there was much conversation about the whole Pegasus Friday thing, and I got to meet a lot of Lovell's co-workers who are all down with the Peg.

It was different at home without him. As much as he seems to think I'm St. Francis with the cats, he really does have a calming effect on them. As soon as they realized that I was the only person home they started knocking stuff over. I'd yell "WHO'S DOING WHAT?" and stomp into the room and then WHAM! Something would fall in the room I'd just left. I woke up with the screen we'd removed from the window for the AC unit on top of me. Someone must have tried to walk the edge and knocked it onto the bed. I'm surprised I slept through it and didn't wake up with little screen marks on my face, but oh well.

The real issue has been my need for endless litany. When someone else is here I chatter at them nonstop. "Hey did you hear that Jamie Spears had her baby? Oh crap, I forgot to pick up a wedding gift. Do you think that there's a difference appropriateness-wise between wearing rubber flip flops or those fake leather looking ones? Should I wear bangs? I like tamales, can we have them for dinner?"

I will say that it was a lot easier to get stuff done this morning. I woke up early, washed every piece of bedding in the house, washed the dishes, gave itchy Steve a bath with some calming oatmeal shampoo for his flea bites, picked up my prescriptions, filled my gas tank, bought some food, got cat food and picked up some hydrocortisone spray for Steve's bitten up areas. Oh, and I partially fixed the bathtub drain.

So I'm feeling pretty good. Aside from the occasional yelling at the animals and the fact that I smell like dog shampoo, vinegar and bleach. Garvin just informed me that he's on his way home now, and I hope he gets here soon, because someone just knocked everything off the shelves in the bathttub and partially took down the curtain. Maybe they got into the liquor cabinet or something?

This morning I faced a severe inability to dress myself. All my shirts were too short, none of my camisoles were long enough, or the shirts were too tight in the sleeves, whine whine whine. I was having some serious issues. So serious that I ranted at Bryan from the moment we got up until the moment we pulled in his parking lot. Non stop. Work, clothes, housework, people and their bumper stickers...anything and everything. Finally I kissed him goodbye and went up to my office, feeling a wee bit better.

That's when one of my bosses pointed out that my sweater was on inside out. Fail!

I've been in a lot of pain lately, so I'm going to go ahead and blame the mood and mental deficiencies on that. I strained a muscle in my neck (who can say how? Slip 'n Sliding?) and am covered with a delightful mottling of bruises from Joe C's party, including some fun finger marks all around my upper arms from being hauled out of Joe's hot tub by a rather inebriated girl. I'm sure the pain has not helped my attitude.

On a final note, we have too many cats. One of the little fuckers---and I'm not naming names, but I'm thinking that it was the fat, orange one---managed to overturn AND break a table in our absence. I'm amazed, but also annoyed. This must be what parenting is like.

I just rocked the socks off a routine dental cleaning.
No new cavities...except...the ones I didn't fix back in 2006. *shifty eyes*
But no NEW ones! Also, the hygienist was impressed at how good my teeth looked considering I have missed a dental appointment or two *cough.*

Anyway, usually I end up with a lecture and a "you need to floss more/better/spend lots of money" speech, but today I got an "it looks like it can wait until you check out your new insurance" speech and a congratulations on my outstanding maintenance.

So I'm happy.
Now...time to internet wrestle.

Holy crap, thirty minutes of old-school military style aerobics just handed me my ass. I'm going to improve my health the old fashioned, whip your own butt into shape my way by using the resistance of my own body, instead of letting the running fanatics I know guilt me into thinking that I need to jog to be healthy.

I hate running. I think it's boring, it's too high impact for me to feel comfortable doing regularly without fearing for my joints, and I have to expose my pasty legs outside in shorts to do it. Forget that.

I always liked calisthenics in gym class, and I can do this in the privacy of the house while I'm watching TV. It'll fit right in with the pilates based workout I already do. Then I don't have to worry that I'm not getting my heart rate up enough when we're out walking with the dog.

Not to mention that I'll be increasing my flexibility and upper body strength all at the same time. And the best part of all---I can do this workout without having to put on pants!

Harold and Sprocket are around 11 months old, and it looks like they've pretty much stopped growing lengthwise. However, Harold has continued to get rounder and rounder, while the other cats seem a little trimmer than usual.

Last night he took a nap on my chest, and after a few minutes of being unable to suck in a full breath I realized it was time to put Harold on a diet.

I put out two cups of food twice a day---four cups a day for four cats, which is technically the exact amount of food that they should be eating for their sizes. But while the other cats eat and run, Harold will eat. And eat. And eat.

So we're isolating him. We're measuring out the food and putting him in the bedroom to eat alone. Then we'll hide the rest of the food when he comes out. Until the other cats learn to eat on a schedule instead of grazing, if they want to eat more during the night we'll have to shut Harold up in the room and re-feed them.

Tonight he ate 1/4 of a cup. When he cries for food we'll give him the rest. He is on a strict one cup a day diet.

I think he'll always be a big cat, but there's no doubt that if I ever need to find Harold, all I need to do is look for the food bowl. Where's Harold? Eating!

We'll see. And now it's off to the scale, to start charting his progress.

Today I was thinking about marriage, and what makes one last.
When I think about my parents, two words that come to mind are: separate vacations.
I'm pretty sure that despite all the love and compromise, the real binding glue in the whole equation has been those many little weekend trips far away from each other.

That's also how we're able to tolerate other family members, co-workers and neighbors.

Next time you are thinking of what to give someone you love, why not give the gift of getting the hell out of town?

Spring's changing weather
Releases too much pollen
Hello, puffy face!

I'm at an age where many people I know are going through competitive healthiness.
This is kind of a stark contrast to where I was just a few years ago, where we'd try different shots, brag about who got how wasted, and wake up hungover wondering where our pants were before finding questionable pictures on our cameraphones.

At today's work lunch, the conversation turned to running. As I listened to people talk about how much they ran (or people downplay their running, such as "I only ran four of the six miles...I am soooo not in shape!") I shoveled more mashed potatoes into my face and realized that I couldn't run 25 feet without keeling over like a smoker. I've never been one for endurance. Screw that. Maybe I'd run if I were racing someone to a Denny's. I suppose I ran that time I wanted to watch six episodes of Sex in the City in a row without getting off my ass and I discovered afterwards that I'd had to pee for over an hour. I don't think that really counts.

I also hear a lot of people bragging about how they are alcohol lightweights and get drunk on one drink. Now...ok, I'm not gonna lie, if I drink one really fast, I'm going to get buzzed. But if pace myself and nurse my drinks, I can have several over the course of the evening and not be drunk at all...meanwhile Garvin will be tottering around giggling and yelling "SNAP, LADY!" in my face before turning up the old school rap and prancing around the living room with several cats in his arms.

Of course when I SAY things like "I wouldn't run if you PAID me" or "I had three pounds of sausage yesterday morning!" people assume I'm lying. This is because I'm thin. I'm not thin because I'm a yuppie health freak---I'm thin because 1)I'm 19 (shut up! I am! I'm AT LEAST 19!) 2)I'm an ectomorph and 3)I generally eat three pretty OK meals a day. My processed meat binges are few and far between, and I'm not much for foods with empty calories. Furthermore, it's not like I'm TOTALLY out of shape. I do a gentle lazy calisthenic workout in front of the tv several times a week, and I have to walk several blocks uphill to work, where I always take the stairs. I'm not sedentary. But I'm also not going to be able to run around the block without gasping for breath. I never have been able to, and I've never had the desire to ruin my knees with all that up and down, up and down. I'm more the type to take a long walk with my MP3 player, or to scream at the dog and shake my fist really, really vigorously. Yelling is quite aerobic.

Still---when I hear people downplaying their 13 mile runs, it makes me feel like I'm going to wake up tomorrow in a pair of pink sweatpants and Garvin's t-shirt.

Hm, I already dress like that. I imagine myself in a pair of pink sweatpants and Garvin's t-shirt that have gotten REALLY REALLY TIGHT.

Do you think this fitness craze thing is something people in their late 20s/early 30s go through? Am I going to wake up one day when I am no longer 19 and suddenly decide to take up marathon running? Would I have to give up pizza? I don't think I could do that. Do you think these people who brag about their routines are lying?

Ah well. I might not be able to run a mile, but I'm still a kick-ass arm wrestler, and my leg wrestling is nothing short of inspired.

Last Thursday I got stuck in the middle of a police chase. I was parked at an intersection, and some cars came screaming around the corner, and the next thing I knew there were lights and sirens EVERYWHERE careening around my car. It was a prostitution sting gone wrong in the middle of the dinner hour on a street with lots of restaurants and pedestrians. Go Cleveland!

It was actually kind of exciting, although I was horrified by the fact that peoples' lives were put in danger just because some guy wanted to get off.

Anyway...today, I was allowed to leave work early so I strutted my stuff out the front door at four p.m.----broad daylight. Almost immediately I bumped into two drunks. One started heckling me. "Why are you crying? You look like you're crying! It can't be THAT bad!"

I WASN'T crying. I was experiencing a sinus headache and not wearing any makeup. Naturally I felt quite offended and was just about to tell the heckler to fuck himself when he offered me a job---suggesting that I work with his "associate," a similarly drunk man who was giggling quietly to himself.

This was in no way a job offer that a lady would accept.

Basically my point is that I've had two prostitution related incidents in two weeks. Skipper is probably laughing with delight, rubbing his hands together and shouting "I TOLD you that this was your eventual career!"

I can't wait to see what next week will bring.