Rhett has taken his shirt off.

You all have my permission to drool.

Damnit.

I'll set the scene.

Short man. Well, short for a man. Shaved head, clear sunglasses (which already marks him, ya know?). We're standing there, bullshitting on a busy day. Three executives and me surrounded by the semi-chaos of retail on a Sunday afternoon. He asks us for purple pants. We all stop and think. We have red pants, blue pants, green pants, yellow, white, gray and black. We have everything but purple. I'm not sure why we don't have purple. In fact, we need purple. And this quite clealry un-sober man explains why: "Dude, I've been listening to The Doors lately and I need purple pants."

Fuck it. We all need purple pants. In fact, the other day I tried on purple pants, and they were fabulous. One thing that I will never need, though, are clear sunglasses.

Also, a bald head.

About a year ago my mother confessed to reading my LJ. (Hi, Mom!) She said she also read Rhett's and she noticed that while his mentions me often, and when I was away he commented on missing me, my journal never mentioned Rhett. The implication? I'm a bad girlfriend.

When we went to California, there was a shortcut to Rhett's LJ on his father's desktop. (Hello, there!)

What? You expected a point?

If you must take a quiz, take this one: http://www.biography.com/soulmate/

Edgar Allen Poe loves me. Yes, he does!

I clearly have not posted recently enough so I must fill your friends page with my useless rambling.

I spent this weekend slightly worried and a little depressed. Slightly worried because I lost the envelope in which my rent check was supposed to be sent. So, I sent it in a regular envelope and it seemed to have been temporarily misplaced. Luckily, the lady in charge (who is wonderfully scatterbrained and gave me a message for a random Mr. Metford while she was at it) found it this morning and all was well in the world of me. Well, sort of. Cause the depression is still sort of there. I feel like a waste of space. I used to do stuff. Like DO stuff. I gotta get on that again. It's hard to volunteer though when you have a rotating schedule. Just one of the many ways my job is sucking the life out of me.

<-- whining fucking maggot. But, moving on.

I'm sure I've mentioned my desire to move to San Francisco on this thing before. If not, well, just take that as a given. Rhett and I are actually going to go for it. His job seems to be dragging to an end here as the owners of the construction firm he's at are nearing closer and closer to retirement and not caring about the company. So, we've been doing research. There are plenty of jobs in his field over there. I'm rather flexible. We might be there by the end of the year, actually. That would be interesting and strange and wonderful and scary.

On another good note, I did find a box of Crayola colored pencils where I can actually win Reebok "The Pump" sneakers! Just gotta get my entry in by 1/15/94.

Karen: "You better get moving then."

What Karen doesn't know is that they mean 2094. Of course.

It's early, early, but we're going to SeaWorld, which was my idea in the first place so really, how can I complain? I won't. Instead, I'll drink my uber-sweet coffee and enjoy the ride. Yesterday I went to the Aquarium on the Pacific (the Long Beach aquarium) where I got to feed lorikeets, and touch sharks and rays. The batrays are like little pups. The moment a person approaches their touchpool, they swim right over and swim up against the edge. They look like little Doberman's, shining black and super sweet. They're also the only ones that felt slimy to the touch. The sand sharks have skin like gravel. Today I get to feed dolphins, too. I'm such a spoiled bitch.

So, after touching lovely sea creatures, we wanted to eat them too! One wouldn't be complete without the other. It' slike going to a farm and petting cows and NOT eating steaks and burgers afterwards. That's just craziness. So, Cathy and I (Rhett didn't come along with us to the Aquarium) went to this nifty Mexican restaurant on Laguna Beach called Las Brisas. She proceeded to treat me to one of the most delicious dinners I've ever had. She had swordfish, I had sole. We both went yum. And then we both sighed contentedly because nothing tops off a day of seeing fish like eating fish. But I already said that.

In fact, this whole entry was super disjointed, but I don't care. It's too early in the AM for me to care and also consider all my sea creature excitement. Sharks and dolphins and orcas and stingrays and anemone fish!

Oh, yeah, and I'm sunburned. Stupid achy shoulder skinz0r.

(50 year old man and me. He wants a jacket in a smaller size.)

"We don't have any more in the back. Just those two."

"But I came in on my day off to get it."

"Sir, we don't have it"

"Well, what am I going to do now?"

"I can check if other Macy's have them."

"I don't want to go to another Macy's"

"Well, we don't have any more here."

"So I wasted my day off?"

"...does it have to be that color?  Cause we have it in a tan."

"Yes, this color."

(I nod) "Well, we don't have it."

"What if I ask him to get it?" (he points)

"We still won't have it."

Elizabeth, my coworker, is not a happy woman. She's a kind one and even quite friendly. But she's not happy. She immigrated here with her husband and children 4 years ago and is heading home to Guyana for the first time since sometime in April. That makes her somewhat happy. She's 50 years old, with two young teenagers who are forgetting how to listen to her and a husband who forgot years ago. I know he cheats on her because she knows and has known for many years.

Sometimes she'll talk about why. Well, she'll talk about how she'll never understand why because they were so happy. "We were so happy," she tells me. "Everyone was always smiling at us holding hands and telling me how jealous they were of my relationship." She'll tell me how lucky she was. Well, how lucky she thought she was until she took her husband one day to buy beans.

You see, she always went to this one particular woman to buy beans back home because her beans were fresh. And though she went there for years, her husband had never accompanied her until that one day. So, she took him, for no good reason, and the woman who sold her her beans every week asked, "Oh, is that your husband?" And Elizabeth's loving husband laughed and said that he was her brother. Elizabeth corrected him after laughing herself thinking it was a joke. The next week she went alone to buy beans for her family and the woman pulled her aside. She said, "Do you know where I live?" She described the area to her and asked Elizabeth to walk there the next day, at around 4 PM.

And that's where it is today. Elizabeth saw her husband, who held hands with her, with his arm around another woman and she walked away. She walked back home. And now she's here, unhappy. She tells her husband she wants to go back to school, but he doesn't want to work a full-time job so she has to. Her daughter is sweet, but at that age when the last thing a daughter wants to hear is her mother's advice, even if the daughter is quiet with a sweet disposition. You can be rebellious with a sweet disposition. Her son used to be sweet and oh so considerate. She tells me how he used to make her breakfast. Now he's in love with the neighbor's daughter who comes knocking at the door way past the time when it's okay to come knocking at the door.

From now on I shall have all piercings done with a dermal punch for it is gooood. I've never had a less painful/uncomfortable time of this. I've even been able to sleep on my sides. I did a bit of a soak today to get any lymph out and noticed later that I had some crusties because of it. Good stuff. My immune system at work. It's a good thing I have a superior immune system and not Rhett's pauper of a white blood cell. It's also a good thing Rhett doesn't like piercings. He'd never heal, yo.

In case some of you were still unaware, Karen's having a wee little one. She's still pretty early along in the process of creation but it's in their. And tomorrow she hears the heartbeat for the first time. Karen's got a miniature heart in her belly!

And to all those close to me reading this I want to urge you, or rather implore you, to go out there and breed. Breed quickly. Do it soon! Not only am I excellent aunt material, I swear, but I need to rent your children in order to fulfill one of my current fantasies. I want an army of annoying brats (and admit it, all your children will be spoiled brats) with which to follow customers to their place of work. Then, I will set the brats free to roam and ruin all of their hard work in vengeance. Hurry up and procreate, foolios, for I need the army of brats sometime within the next couple of months.

Also, anyone who refers to the menstruation as their "moontime" is deadtome.

I called Brian over at Sacred last night. Here are the results:





Dermally punched at 14 and then stretched up to 12. The little baby plugs in there right now are just temporary until the piercings heal. Brian said that they would heal better that way, so that works for me. Once that part's done, in go a pair of large diameter CBRs, or seamless rings.

Happy me with new holes. =)