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Pattern Recognition, William Gibson

This had me and lost me almost on a page-by-page basis. I'd be interested, then I'd just wish I was done with it, etc. All in all a lukewarm read for me. I did get the 'duck in the face' line STUCK IN MY HEAD, though.

Shadow Divers, Robert Kurson

This book is freaking me right the hell out.

Check out:

Neurotically Yours.


Fog on Lake Washington

Daffodils, poking up through today's frost.

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Internet Persona
Mimi Smartypants

Miss Doxie
Mrs. Roboto
Peachy Keen
Perpetual Blonde
Pineapple Girl
Sarah Hepola
Scott Dierdorf
Subsequent Events
Uncle Bob


January 3, 2005

The last few days have passed in a guilty fog; I feel like I should have done something productive with all my time away from work, like maybe ridding my tub of its icky patina and odor of Ghosts of Body Wash Past, or visiting the gym before all the hordes descend for the month of January, sporting shiny new resolutions and Mossimo yoga pants.

Alas, I have neither clean house nor tightened ass to show for my vacation, although I did make potstickers on Friday and thus am all intercontinental and shit. Potstickers are fun - you just monge a bunch of stuff together in a cuisinart and seal it in wonton wrappers. Fry them in a pan, then steam them with some broth, and if you want to be classy like us, eat them while lounging on the couch watching VH1's All Access: Booty Call.

My Corolla got smashed the other morning, jut a few blocks from my house - its left front....snout? (that's the technical term, I believe) is all hoopty now and one of the headlights is gone. So today I took it to the Geico-approved body shop and bid it farewell for the time being, and drove back home in a Kia SomethingOrOther. The Kia, or K-k-k-KIA! as I like to call it, isn't half bad. I had secretly hoped that Enterprise would be all, "We're sorry ma'am, all we have in stock is this Lamborghini, we hope that's acceptable," and I would be all, "WhatEV," then I would lift up the door Back to the Future-style and take off in a cloud of (sexy) smoke, VROOM!, but you know, that just didn't happen. I was however offered Enterprise's incredibly important car insurance. I hate this conversation - if you've ever rented a car, you know what I'm talking about.

Enterprise Guy: "And here's our 'walk-away' coverage, if you just sign there it's only $11 a day."
Me: "But...but I have car insurance. What's this coverage?"
E.G.: "If you have any kind of problem, we just let you walk away. For only $11 a day."
Me: "Walk away from where?"
E.G.: "Umm....our office? For just $11 a day."
Me: "My own insurance will cover problems. They let me walk wherever I want."
E.G. (huffy now): "Fine, I will just need you to initial this form in 3957271 different places saying you UNDERSTAND and are REFUSING our insurance. For only -"
Me: "Yeah, $11 a day. Do you have a pen?"

My car, the Corolla, was swiped, not hit head-on or anything, and to me the damage doesn't look that bad, but JB has been muttering dire things about "extensive bodywork" and "possibly totaled", so now I'm worried the cost of repairing it will somehow be more than the car is worth, and although the K-k-k-k-KIA makes me wish for a newer car, now is not the time I want to be replacing the Corolla. The Corolla may not be exciting, but the Corolla is payment-free. I'm crossing my fingers they can just bang it back together with some white duct tape or something.

Let's see, made potstickers, got rental car, what else - oh, I saw Open Water last night. From my reaction, you would have thought it was the most, ha ha, TERRIFYING FILM EVER MADE, but really, I just have this, um, thing about sharks and water and not being able to see what's down there and being abandoned in the middle of the ocean and having your leg chomped and jesus, it was all a true story, and excuse me for a minute while I run around screaming at the top of my lungs, okay? I'll be right back.

Anyway! I also had lunch with Chiara, which was fabulous and she totally commented on my freshly shorn-and-highlighted hair, unlike my husband, who despite having asked me about 97 times where I was going on Sunday morning ("I'm going to the hair salon," "Oh yeah. Wait, what are you doing again?" "Getting my hair done.") FAILED UTTERLY to dish out even a pity compliment when I got home and had to finally be prodded, after which he said, "Well, it looks sort of the same." I go spend 3 hours having my hair elaborately painted with bleach, wrapped in foil, crammed under a heater, then blown dry and flatironed, then scissored and razored, THEN gussied up with Bedhead hair wax, all services for which I shelled out an obscene amount of cash, and it looks "sort of the SAME"? Man, sometimes He's Just Not That Into You, you know?


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