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Wednesday, Dec. 25, 2002 / 1:10 p.m. ~My Christmas, So Far~ It's 1:10 p.m. as I sit to write this, on Christmas Day, and I have to keep saying it or I won't know what day it is, I won't know it's Wednesday, not Saturday. I like to say it to the cats, because they have no idea what I'm saying. "Merry Christmas, Kit-tays", I like to say, and I drag out the "Kit-taaaayyyys" part, and they have no clue, they just know I'm weird, they never know what to expect. Norman had the 'PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!'s a few minutes ago, but I think a scrunchy sort of hug and brief moment of lap time fixed that. If only I can get her to stop eating the sisal off the broken pieces on the scratchpost. I need to buy a whole roll, re-wrap it, I guess. Loud bass is booming from a vehicle in the parking lot, totally breaking my concentration, such as it is. Oh, majorly annoying. It's the Latinos from downstairs and over. After living here all these years, finally we have Latinos. They're different. They say "Hola" when I walk by, the smells emanating from their apartment are drool-inducing. What is it? Where are they from? Mexico? El Salvador? I'm going to guess Mexico, but I have no idea. There, it's gone, the bass booming. I cooked last night, again, this fantastic chicken sausage (go ahead, click on that link, it will take you directly to the chicken sausage page) (OH GOD, the BASS IS BACK!!!), sauteed with some yellow and orange bell pepper, the last of my baby shiitakes, which were babies, and organic, but I prefer the bigger ones, and some carrot, mixed with some angel hair pasta. I sort of cooked the pasta and added it to the saute, mixed it all up. No 'sort of', it's actually what I did. (Bass over???? AARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!) Anyway, I ate, it was really really good. I'm actually a good cook. I like to have ingredients on hand, just throw things together, and it's always hit or miss, but when it hits, it HITS. Mmmmm... it was the seasonings. So then I sit on the sofa to watch a movie, post-"Felicity", and it's this Dick Powell movie, 1940, on TCM, called "Christmas In July", and it's really hokey, and not quite 'hilarious' like the synopsis said, well, not yet, but you know I felt the need to recline, and I had the cats, the knitted throw blanket, and I went down, and shortly after, down for the count. Out. 8:30 p.m., out like a light, as they say. I woke up a few times, got up to feed the cats, came right back, lay back down, and slept, TV on, until about 4:00, a.m. That's about 7.5 hours sleep. Interrupted, but only briefly. I went to bed, wherein I proceeded to watch a cheesy Alan Alda movie on the HBO Comedy channel. "A New Life", written and directed by Mr Alda. All about a divorced couple, played by Alan Alda and Ann Margaret (with her own special lighting, natch), who are trying to find themselves after 26 years of marriage failed them. She meets a sculptor, younger than she, who is not only enamored, but who turns out to be a total control freak. He meets a lovely doctor, played by Veronica Hamel of "Hill Street Blues" fame (right?), wins her over, they get married and she has a baby. Much angst ensues, as he doesn't feel he wants another child (one daughter already, grown, who just had baby of her own, btw). Lots of yelling, lots of cliches about divorcees, lots of permed hair on men (1988), goofy clothes, etc. Turns out the woman, Ann Margaret, is happier to be independent after all those years married to a jerk, and the man, Alan Alda, is happy to be with a younger woman who can still breed. Typical. I think that's art imitating life, um, except it wasn't exactly 'art', but basically when couples divorce after years and years, or even just a few years, the woman usually seems really happy to be on her own, doesn't want to be smothered, and the man rushes into another relationship, asap. I'm generalizing, but it happened with me. It's typical of my own personal experiences, and it's typical of the experiences of people I've known throughout my life. Whew. Whatever. I managed to go back to sleep, somewhere around 6:30 this morning, and woke in time to catch the second half of the "Felicity" pilot on the We (Women's Entertainment Television) "Felicity Navidad" "Felicity" marathon all day today. Turns out the second ep they showed was the one I missed a few weeks ago. Yay! Dammit, I love this show. I'm not kidding. For so many reasons. The We channel blurbs mention how we women watching have a little bit of Felicity in all of us, and that's true, and we perhaps enjoy living vicariously through her, and we perhaps enjoy the acting, watching the lovely Keri Russell (whom Mark once called 'cute as a button' when he happened to be here while 'my show' was just beginning) grow and evolve as an actress. Seriously, in the pilot, she's like, a kid! Good, good show. It's on now, but I did just see this one. Okay, okay, I've seen them ALL, no secret there, and I'm watching them nightly, shown in episodic succession, but I've missed one or two, and most are worth watching again and again anyway, so yeah, there you have it. Next topic..... knowing I can't go anywhere, or do anything outside this apartment, and not necessarily wanting to anyway, I pulled a steak from the freezer last night and I'll marinate it in a few, broil that for dinner. I'm thinking maybe some corn, and/or couscous on the side. I'm out of fresh veggies already, and juice, which is very bad. I need my juice. I suppose I could find a 'convenience store' open somewhere, but I've no intention of getting out and driving around. Besides, it's fucking cold out. Oh, the wind blew so hard and gusty last night it woke me up. Once, on the sofa, I heard this loud sound, like a roar, and I had no idea what it was, I merely deduced it was wind, vaguely remembered the TV weatherman saying something about the wind blowing away the clouds, and then later in bed, again. ROAR!!!! Now? 34 degrees. Low expected to be 25. Cold. Warm inside. "Felicity" marathon on We. Food. Flannel. Felines. Books, mags, if I want, computer, if I want. It's good, really, it's all just fine. In fact, I still haven't even had coffee, so I think I'll prepare some now. Maybe have some lovely organic eggs (from happy chickens, chickens happy to lay and give their offspring, just like the happy chickens who gave their lives for that sausage I ate last night - I figure they were maybe just roaming around, maybe playing cards or something, and they're sort of taken around back, hit from behind, they never even know what's coming when they're killed, they die happy, with maybe a good hand, a full house or something, happy, grinning even), maybe some whole wheat toast, which I love to say as "Tohhhst", you know, as if I'm from North Dakoooohhhhta or somewhere, and some grits, which might be said, "Greeeits", or something similar, as if I'm from the South, which I am, but my parents were Northerners, I swear, I have no accent, unless I'm playing around. I just realized I'd been shrugging my shoulders, they were all up high as I was typing. Big relief to let them down. Okay, I know everyone is with family and friends right now, but no one has said one word about my fookin' Norma Rae activities at work. How I, singlehandedly, made sure EVERYONE at my job would be PAID for being sent home early on Christmas Eve. But you know what? That's okay. You skimmed. I know. You missed it, you didn't get it, and besides, this is a diary that I write for me, um, I don't need you to read it, and you do, but if you don't want to say "WOW!! That is, like, so cool!", that's fine. I don't need accolades, I know what I did, and Listerine, of all people, gave me the thanks I needed, er, wanted? Neither did you notice, nor say anything about the Moby With Hair picture at the bottom of the page here. It links directly to his Journal. I didn't know how to link DIRECTLY to it before, but I saw a link on someone's blog last night - a guy I used to be in touch with.... long story, but he reads Moby's Journal too! - so I thought I'd do the same, but with picture, which I reserve the right to change from time to time. It pays to pay attention. But if you choose not to, well, that's your choice. You're busy, I understand, no, I'm okay, really, I'm just fine with that. No joke. No lie. Truly, madly and deeply. Merry Christmas, Kit-ttaayyyyys! Cost of the War in Iraq
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