La Chat Noir

EWWWW! Gross!

2005-12-08T14:28:00.000-05:00

There are pieces of a gingerbread house in the office kitchen. I asked the receptionist (as an aside ... she's very nice, but one of those stereotypical back-country bumpkins that doesn't realize some of the things she says are pretty damn racist) what it was doing there, and if anyone was going to assemble it.

She said that Boring Co-Worker (I used to go to lunch with her occasionally, but she's so fucking boring I can't stand it and have managed to dodge invitations for about the last six months) bought it last year and never put it together.

Then, yesterday, Boring Co-Worder found ants crawling in the box. So she pulled out all the gingerbread, gumdrops, licorice wands and little candy people heads, wiped them off, and re-bagged it all in Zip-locs.

Um, I guess she's saving it for later?

Say it with me, people.

EWWWW! Gross!

How do you spell T-A-C-K-Y?

2005-12-07T08:21:00.000-05:00

I applied for a job at The University. A job I didn't get. It was one of those things that really would have been a good opportunity. It's not like I'm looking to leave my current job. (BTW, this year for craft day, we decorated holiday picture frames). In fact, I'd been liking my job more lately and was feeling guilty knowing I had applied for another one.

I received my ding letter in the mail yesterday. Ya know "we had a tremendous response ... your impressive credentials were given consideration ... we have concluded the interview process ... best of luck in your future endeavors" which is University speak for "we already had someone in mind for this position and were merely going through protocol by posting the job opening."

Bitches.

When I checked the University HR site the other day, I was surprised to see the job had been filled. I had been lead to believe that they actually were accepting applications. And, really, if they HAD considered my impressive credentials, I would think that I would have warranted at least a phone call.

The position was with The University alumni association. So, at first when I opened up the bulky package with the ding letter on top, I thought they had the gall to send me an application packet to join the alumni association. But I was SHOCKED to see that no, they had SENT BACK MY PORTFOLIO CLIPS.

Unbelievable.

By returning my resume and portfolio clips (all of which are obvious laser print-outs, BTW, it's a terrible idea to send originals) not only does it send the message "you didn't get the job" but it makes it abundantly clear that "you were so far beyond consideration for this position, we don't even have to pretend to keep your stuff on file."

You just don't send back resumes. If you're not interested, you THROW THEM AWAY. I was trying to explain all this to LISBF and he kept trying to bring up a point for the other side, some sort of small lexicon of the universe where it is okay to return things that normal people understand are obviously not okay to return.

Finally, I snapped at him and told him that if we ever break up, I don't want to see ONE SINGLE gift I've given him sent back to me. It's tacky. If you don't want it, donate it to charity or throw it away. But there are some things you DO NOT SEND BACK.

And portfolios are one of them. I don't want to work for anyone that tacky, anyway. Bitches.

Not a drop to drink

2005-11-18T14:10:00.000-05:00

LISBF and I met up at my house around 7:45 last night, quickly devouring the 18 piece wings dinner that I brought home from BW-3. Afterward, I offered him a wet wipe. Kind of a joke between us because he doesn't understand why I sit at the coffee table, cleaning my hands with five or six wet wipes when I could just use the sink.

From the kitchen, I heard his voice, with a bit of "uh-oh" in the timbre, "LCN?" He walks quickly to the bathroom, "LCN?" And back into the living room, holding his sticky hands out in front of him ala a surgeon on ER, about to be gloved up ... "There's no water."

We both look down at the pile of used wet naps I've discarded on the coffee table. "Want a wet wipe now?" I ask.

After calling the water department, going next door to verify that their water was flowing like the Amazon, checking to see that the water bill had been placed in the "paid" pile, and calling the water department again ... I really had to pee.

We waited for the water department guy to show up and take care of what he guesstimated would be a clogged meter. When I saw him walking around the house, I ran out to see what was the matter, and whether we should load up and drive out to LISBF's for the night.

I'd been shut off from lack of payment. "But, that's impossible" I stammered "... it's in the 'paid' pile!"

Apparently, there was a flaw in the system.

So first thing this morning, I went down to the municipal building to pay the $23 balance on my account ... and the $37 re-hook-up fee. Which, I think, involves sending someone out to my house to cut the tag off my meter.

A high price to pay for my forgetfulness, but it's worth knowing that I can once again pee freely.

Far Away Places

2005-11-14T16:20:00.000-05:00

My mother is the sixth of nine siblings, raised on a mint farm in the Midwest. The farmhouse and some surrounding acreage was sold out of our family about 18 years ago. The current owners are putting it up for auction in December, and last weekend they held an open house. Seven of the nine siblings and several of their assorted offspring, myself included, visited the family homestead for what is likely the last time.

My Grandpa died when I was 8 years old. My memories of the farmhouse are few. I hovered near my mother the entire afternoon, not wanting to miss a single story, flash of recognition or recalled memory.

The house was starting to go downhill when we sold it, and it would appear that the current owners have done nothing in the way to try and make repairs. One wall along the side of the house is so badly rotted from water damage and a tree growing into the house that the windows have broken out, their sashes have bowed and crumpled and the ceiling in the kitchen is caving in.

But it was the same oven. The same cabinets and countertops. The same laminate floor. Even the curved banquette remained, although it had been moved to the sunporch.

A downstairs bathroom in the middle of a remodeling, was missing parts of its floor and all the tile had been stripped from the walls. But the inside of the tub was still painted purple. And the swan decals my grandmother affixed more than 50 years ago were still on the cupboard doors.

A plastic clown switchplate in the room that used to be the nursery still hinted at the circus animal scene on the wall and bigtop stripes painted on the ceiling by my grandmother.

A shred of rubber from an old tire swing, and a rope still tangled high in the trees ... a rusted old boiler ... gouges in the wood hallway from rollerskates ... a nick in the laminate, caused by my mother at the age of 14 (something she confessed to for the first time only Sunday) ... so many remnants still remained.

One of the biggest shockers was discovering Aunt M's player piano in the Piano Room, so dubbed because the room had been home to the baby grand piano, which now sits in Aunt G's living room. When Aunt M asked the realtor about the player, she responded "it came with the house, it goes with the house."

My mother, sister and I were among the last to leave, having been on the property for nearly three hours and leaving a good 15 minutes after the 4p.m. end time of the open house.

Just before we left, Lil' Sis and I followed mom to the Piano Room. She cracked open the cover and began to play.

I recognized the tune as one of many I'd heard her play numerous times as a child, Far Away Places. It wasn't until she'd finished, and turned toward us with tears in her eyes that I understood the significance of her decision to play that particular song.

"There's a line in that song about castles in Spain," she said, turning to my sister. "And you've seen that! You've seen castles in Spain!"

My mother is the sixth of nine siblings, raised on a mint farm in the Midwest. She grew up with a mother who told her she was too ugly and bookish to ever find a husband. She's now one of three siblings to have been married more than 25 years ... the only three of nine not divorced.

How many times did she play that song to save herself? To convince herself that she would one day grow up and move far away from here? To dream of a life of possibility, wonder and happiness? How many times had she played that song in this very room?

My Grandpa died when I was 8 years old. Until Sunday, my memories of the farmhouse were few.

I will not forget the look on my mother's face when she closed up that old player piano and turned toward her two daughters, to give both of our hands a squeeze, before she walked out of the room.

The time I called my co-worker a slut ... in front of everybody

2005-10-31T08:39:00.000-05:00

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. The other one is Easter.

I always dress up, even to work. Luckily for me, we hardly have clients come into the office, so it's no big deal. This year, a few other people dressed up, too. The president is in cammo, with cammo tattoo things on his face. The HR director is a redneck, with a mullet, trucker hat and Miller jacket. And two hottie smallish girls, who are both very nice, are dressed up like go-go girls in hot white go-go boots and funky dresses. Boring rep is wearing her husband's car maintenance shirt and jeans. And I'm Roman nobility. It's a palla, stola and bulla that I made for Latin class in junior high. I was afraid it would no longer fit, but the thing is a tent. I accessorized with some laurels in my hair from the craft store and a snake arm band.

So we're supposed to have a costume contest this morning. And, of course, I don't approve of costume contests because losers never win. The popular kids win. So, everybody meets in the central room (the same room where we have craft day, which has been scheduled for Dec. 2) to look at those of us in costume. It was like being at a zoo. The ones in costume on one side, and everybody else at the other end of the room looking at us.

My boss is taking pictures of all the costumed people so that he can send around an e-mail voting system. Much preferable to the president's system. Where he said, "Okay everybody in favor of LCN, say aye." And no one said anything. And then someone said, we should do it over e-mail. Great idea!

SO ... the group is breaking up and people are starting to leave. And high school girl (which is actually how I refer to her in real life. Because when we were on the product development committee, she started every sentence with "I know I didn't go to college, but...") says to my boss, "I'll have to e-mail you my costume from Friday night so people can vote on that!"

LCN: Nuh-uh. You didn't wear it into work, it doesn't count.

HSG (Squealing that annoying popular girl squeak): I can't wear it into WORK! The shorts were up to here! (She points to her ass crack.)

LCN: Um, no just because you're a slut whose costume is to trashy to wear into work doesn't give you special consideration.

I can probably look forward to a talking to sometime in the day.

I may as well be dead

2005-10-25T13:56:00.000-05:00

I realize that I am posting so infrequently that I may as well be dead. There are so many changes, all positive, occurring with my little family-owned company .... well, I just have a lot more work to do than I did at this time last year. And that leaves for a lot less time slacking off. Here are the highlights:

THING ONE: I was rear-ended last week. One week after chickeepoo co-worker backed up into me in the parking lot. That makes the eighth time this car has been hit in the four years I've owned it. Only once was I at fault. Three times it was parked and I wasn't even in it. Twice, I was at a complete stop. WTF?

THING TWO: LISBF's 16-year-old son was involved in a head-on collision where an old woman jumped the median and crossed into his lane. She didn't die, but was covered in blood. Both cars were totaled. Scary.

THING THREE: Lil' Sis had some car trouble of her own. A 16-year-old drunk kid stole a car and lead police on a chase through town that ended when he turned a corner and smacked into her car. Yikes. Karma ... I got the message! Now lay off!

THING FOUR: My campaign to not turn on the heat until November has been successful thus far. We're keeping warm with space heaters, blankets and kittens ... but LISBF is looking forward to Tuesday ...

THING FIVE: M2 and I have a deli place where we go to lunch every Saturday. It's a small joint, so sometimes they are closed due to high demands in catering. Or last weekend, they were closed for volleyball sectionals. Anyway, they have a billion sandwiches all named silly things (Avocado Deal For You, Turkey in the Straw, A Legitimate Beef) well ... one is named the Mooscow (I think it has Russian dressing). Which is not quite Moocow. But very close.

Oh, that Karma

2005-10-12T16:34:00.000-05:00

One of the things I love about Earl, is how he refers to "Karma," as if she's a person. I actually roomed with a Karma in college. She was bitch. And so is karma.

Today has been a strange, strange day. The most recent of the strange occurrences was when a perfectly sweet and nice co-worker that I don't interact with all that much, came into my office this afternoon.

And burst into tears.

Between gasps, she told me that she had ran into my car in the parking lot. She felt terrible. She was so sorry.

And I said, it's okay. I've done that too.

At my last job, I backed into a friend's car in the parking lot. And I remember the sinking feeling of dread as I approached his office. Unfortunately, he shared an office with two other men, so they all saw me weeping as I mimed "backed. into. car." Thankfully, the friend moved to Washington DC earlier this fall, so I no longer have to be introduced as "LCN, the friend that backed into my car."

I plan to get an estimate in the morning. The damage is to the driver side rear door, back panel and bumper, so it will likely be more than they're wanting to pay out of pocket. The body shop guy will be glad to see me, it's been so long since my car's needed some work done.

Really, she couldn't have hit it in a better place. The driver side rear door is the door with a 3-inch ding/scrape that mysteriously appeared one night in M1's parking lot. It was an eyesore on my otherwise beautiful car. Now, I can get it fixed.

I just hope she doesn't stress about it too much. Her husband will likely be more upset with her than I am. Cause I know what she feels like. And I'll know better than to hold it over her for the next several years.

And then there were three...

2005-10-06T16:43:00.000-05:00

Last week I made the tough decision that I could not keep Banana, the cat I'd been fostering. (That's right, ACW, another post about my cats.)

I'd been wishy washy about whether or not to keep her since the beginning. She is V. sweet and oh so cute and cuddley ... she just didn't interact well with my two older cats, Cairo (4) and Quirk (3). But I thought there was hope because Banana and the kitten, Luna, got along okay.

Then, Thursday night, as LISBF and I lay down in bed. I thought my pillow felt suspiciously damp.

LCN, lying there with face on damp pillow: Um, I think my pillow might be damp.

LISBF: Damp? Like with cat piss?

LCN: Yeah. I think maybe so. Will you smell it for me?

LISBF: Put it in front of my face.

This would be one of those times where my deficient olfactory senses come in handy. I was laying my head on a pillow soaked with cat piss, and I couldn't smell it. Once I got up and turned on the light, it was obviously wet and extremely disgusting.

I don't think it was Banana, I suspect it was Cairo or Quirkie. They had had enough and wanted to make sure I got the message. Banana had to go.

So even though I'd only had Banana for two months, I balled like a baby when I brought her down to the Humane Society. I'd spared her life. I'd nursed her to health. I'd gotten her through surgery, cleaned her goopy ear out twice daily, listened to her whining in heat for weeks, taken her to weekly doctor's appointments ... and now it felt like abandonment.

Fortunately, M1's co-worker who intervened and helped us save Banana in the first place, took her in as a foster so she'd stay in the program.

I learned yesterday that said Banana didn't even last the weekend at her house. She terrorized the other animals, and they also showed their anger with urine.

So now she's in another foster home where she's the only cat around. And Cairo and Quirkie are noticeably less stressed.

As LISBF said, now all I have to do is get rid of the little gray one, and everything will be back to normal.

Killing Bambi out back

2005-09-29T16:48:00.000-05:00

Let me present further evidence that I do not work for a normal company.

I had a question for the assistant sales director, who currently shares an office with the sales director (we've outgrown our 5-year-old building and are moving in December). When I went back to their office, I was told that ASD was "out back."

So I went back in the warehouse, and looked out the open garage door where I saw ASD sitting on the forklift. He looked bored.

LCN: What are you doing?

ASD: Helping [Company President] with his aim.

Pres appears at my left, clutching arrows in his hands.

Pres: Hi, LCN!

It was then that I saw the dummy deer with the bullseye that usually lives in the warehouse. It was propped against our neighbor's (as in the house next door) fence.

Company pres jumped onto the palette on the forklift and ASD lifted him high above my head.

He sank five arrows in the dummy deer.

Must be hunting season.

Self Evaluation

2005-09-28T12:58:00.000-05:00

I'll have my annual review on Friday. The boss has requested that I turn in my self-evaluation this afternoon. He first e-mailed me about it on Monday, and it would seem that three days is enough time to check the acceptable amount of "Very Good" boxes, one or two "Outstanding" boxes and a token "Good" box, just for good measure.

But I haven't even begun to fill it out. If only there were a "Check here if you're fabulous" box. That would make the entire process a whole lot easier.

My reviews always fill me with anxiety. Not because I think I'm a poor employee (case in point, I TOTALLY chose my job over blogging this summer) but rather because my boss has an awful tendency to drag up months-old issues around review time. And more often than not, they are things that I had NO IDEA he was unhappy about, because he didn't address them when they happened.

That'll definitely be in the supervisor review this time around.

This is the first time that I've been asked to submit my self-evaluation prior to meeting for the review. We usually just get together and compare notes. Apparently, turning it in ahead of time is due process in many working environments. So I don't know why it has me all worked up.

I worry that if I rank myself lower than he would have ranked me, it may influence his evaluation of me negatively. Consequently, I feel far less objective filling it out knowing it will be turned in ahead of time.

M1 was shocked that I tried to be objective at all. He looks at the self-evaluation as a way to sell yourself to the boss/company all over again, just like an interview.

So maybe I'll try that approach. But I'll draw the line at donning hose and heels.

B-R-O-K-E is me

2005-09-27T15:40:00.000-05:00

My balance has not been this low for a while. It's pretty scary how close to $0 I can get without even balancing the checkbook (I don't). I just have a feeling when I'm getting low. Ya know, if the ATM seems to be taking a little bit longer to dispense the cash ... I must be running out.

Payday is Thursday. w00t!

Bump. Head. Wall.

2005-09-26T16:47:00.000-05:00

I awoke from a dreamy stupor around 3am from an odd dream where I had landed the role in a big budget Hollywood movie that was being directed by my high school drama teacher ... who never liked me anyway.

I was anxious. Confused. Off-balance. And boy did I have to pee.

I was stumbling around in the dark, moving around the bed toward the door. Fumbling in the darkness for some sort of clothing that would cover me a bit more, should LISBF's son be sleeping on the couch, which he oft is.

It was much too dark to see anything, so I lumbered in the direction of the bedside table, reaching for the lamp in the pitch black when .... SMACK. I ploughed head-first into the brick wall that runs through the center of the house.

I burst into tears and starting shouting at LISBF about things being too dark, clothes being misplaced, sons being asleep and bladders needing to be emptied. He promptly flipped on the lamp and I grabbed a shirt and huffed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Fourteen hours later, and my head is still throbbing. Brick is a bitch.

Driving on empty

2005-09-23T13:19:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow's tag sale has turned into a huge thing. Which is a good thing. Skinny, the Ms, Lil' Sis and I all have items to sell. (I'm trying to offload this vintage stove). Now, we just have to get everything to my house. Tonight. So the Ms and I met for lunch so M2 and I could swap cars. I drive a Corolla. He drives a minivan, its seats are in my garage.

As soon as I turned the key in the van's ignition, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to tell him that even though the empty light is on in the Kettle (my Corrolla), he NEED NOT PANIC.

M2 is prone to making gigantic deals out of nothing. And then he gets defensive about it. It's generally a frustrating situtation for all involved and it's best to just avoid it.

I should have filled up my gas tank this morning. But I didn't. So I gave M2 a call, while we were both still in the parking lot in one another's cars.

LCN: Hey. I forgot to tell you... even though the empty light is on, you're okay. You have plenty of gas left.

M2: I hadn't noticed until you said something.

LCN: I just didn't want you to freak out when you saw that the light was on.

M2: It's below the 'E'.

LCN: I know. You're okay.

M2: Okay enough to go to work? Okay enough to go to work and then home?

LCN: Yes. You are okay. You have enough gas.

M2: Okay enough to stop at Barnes and Noble for a hot chocolate on the way home?

LCN: YES. Plenty.

M2: Are you sure? Cause you know I don't like driving with the empty light on. I don't even let my empty like come on. I don't let the van get below a quarter tank.

LCN: I know. You are FINE. Probably could go another 60 miles.

M2: Okay. Thanks for telling me. Cause I would have really freaked out when I noticed it.

LCN: Yeah. I know.

LISBF beats me (in his sleep)

2005-09-22T09:14:00.000-05:00

LISBF is a CRAZY sleeper. He gets upset with me for fidgeting too much. But I have a much harder time putting up with his flailing limbs, sleep talking and aggravated put-out sighs every time one of the four kitties hops into bed.

He falls asleep right away. And I'm always lying in bed (fidgeting) for at least a half hour. One of my favorite things about our sleeping patterns is that I am awake to hear his nonsensical mumblings. And sometimes, I can ask him questions, and in his half-sleep state, he'll tell me all about his dreams.

Last night, I was awoken around 4am by LISBF's thrashing forearm, which he was banging on my face.

LCN: Um, sweetie. You're bopping me on the head.

LISBF: There was a bird.

LCN: A bird?

LISBF: Birds in the sky. Swarming us. You called them Puckers*. I was trying to protect you. I was trying to hit them with my magazine.

LCN: Okay. Well, that's nice. But you can stop hitting me in the face now. Go back to sleep.

LISBF: So you don't think they're in here?

LCN: Nope. No birds. It was just a dream.

LISBF: ... well, you were the one who was crying.

*I find the idea of Puckers very amusing. It's a combination of my favorite swear word and my favorite birds. I say "fuck" all the time. And I have an art print of Puffins on the wall above my bed. Go figure.

My new love's name is Earl

2005-09-21T15:48:00.000-05:00

So here's a little something about me that you may not know ... I watch a lot of TV.

I can't WAIT for the LOST premiere tonight. (What is IN that hatch? Which guy stranded out in the water doesn't turn up on the raft? Where did the Others (Are those the Others?) take Walt? Why haven't we seen another polar bear?) ABC, you're killing me here!

Did anyone else catch My Name Is Earl last night? FABULOUS. It was laugh-out-loud funny a number of different times. Best part of all ... no laugh track laughing along with us. All I can say is "Dibs."

As a side note ... Happy Last Day of Summer! Around here, that means a DQ run for the entire office. I ordered my favorite Blizzard concoction. Mint flavoring with brownie pieces. YUMMY! Fall never tasted so good.

Now, where were we?

2005-09-20T15:40:00.000-05:00

It has been a long time since I have last written ... allow me to fill you in...

I have discovered a song that I cannot stand. It features a repeating chorus that talks about "My lovely lady lumps. In the back and in the front. My lovely lady lumps." And today, M1 informed me that it is by the Black Eyed Peas. Oh Fergie, I normally enjoy your rap-pop dance songs with an uptempo vibe. Alas. Not this time.

I have dropped the largest sum of money on a single purchase at one time in my life EVER. I bought new living room furniture for my cats to pee on. That's the couch in the photo (not the colors or fabric I chose, just the frame). It's called Serendipity. Nice. Should get it the middle of October.

Banana (the foster kitty) is going in for surgery on Wednesday! Yeah! After weeks of in-heat growling and N-A-S-T-Y ear oozing (LISBF has taken to calling her "Grosso") she will be getting her ear polyp removed as well as getting spayed. Hopefully her head tilt will remain intact.

Though we're still friends, M2 and I have grown apart. He doesn't talk to me anymore. We still see each other weekly. But we have to make an effort to schedule it, and it's most always with other people involved. His girlie is still very much in the picture. I have taken to referring to her as Yoko. He has moved in two doors down from M1. So they see each other all the time. M2 and I have made a regular habit of Saturday lunches at a deli in town. They have the best lemon squares ever.

I have been better about making time for my other friends. This is a good thing. Skinny is having a yard sale at my place this weekend, since my address is more recognizable and easier to find than hers. I hope to find some things to sell.

So far, life at 26 has been rather uneventful. I shall try my hardest to blog more often. I thought about taking down this blog, but decided against it. Thanks for sticking with me.

LCN's Birthday (observed)

2005-08-19T08:06:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, we celebrated LCN's Birthday (observed). Cause today is my real birthday and tonight we have an Improv show. M1 and M2 planned last night's non-surprise surprise. Which is to say, I knew something was happening, but I didn't know where it was or who was involved. M2 made me a twinkie cake. M1 brought me a princess tiara to wear. They topped the cake with an Aquaman figurine that I made M1 buy me in Florida, then subsequently forgot about. Some rainbow candles (in honor of the gays) and Bob the Builder (in honor of the lesbians. Or because I'm a homeowner. Depends on who you ask).

A while back, I was talking to the Ms about something I'd read in O, The Oprah Magazine. Every month they do a feature on a celebrity and some of their favorite books. One month, Gywnth was featured. And she talked about how for Christmas one year, she asked all her friends that if they felt the need to get her a gift, they should get her a book.

So that is what all my friends did for me last night. It was fabulous! So many different books. Representing so many different people. Plus, not a single one I've already read! I am excited to designate a shelf to my friends' library.

Each friend wrote in the front of the book why that book was so important to them. Why they chose it. Some of the inscriptions were so touching. But my favorite book was a gift from my friend V. Descendant, a collection of poetry by Marianne Boruch. I love so many things about it.

First of all, I enjoy reading poetry. Everyone else brought novels, so it was special since it was different. V is the LAST person I would ever guess to buy me a book of poetry. It's not her thing. But this book was the first prose she read that she actually liked and it made her think there was hope. She discovered it while taking a poetry class in college. And because it is out of print, she gave me her personal copy. Complete with notes and everything.

She plans to order another used copy for herself, but she didn't want to chance giving me a used copy that might have ruminants of someone's coffee, or some weird stray hair. I'm not one to pass on my books. Even those I didn't like, couldn't finish or might never read. I keep them all. So for her to give me her personal copy ... It was just really special.

So .... here's a library of my friends, organized alphabetically by author.

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

Descendant by Marianne Boruch

Dry by Augusten Burroughs

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

The Pleasure of My Company by Steve Martin

Animal Farm by George Orwell

Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

And a Tom and Jerry coloring book, from a friend who said "I don't really like to read."

On again off again

2005-08-03T08:07:00.000-05:00

Perhaps I was a bit premature in my rentre.

I'm still swamped at work. My coalition is imploding*. And I can't even REMEMBER the last night I hoed my tomato garden, er, jungle.

Ergo ... I have not visited any of your blogs that I so enjoy reading, nor have I done a very good job of posting on mine.

My warm welcome is barely cooling off, and I feel I must say adieu again.

Je suis desolee. But I need a little more time.

*Anyplace that hands out your paycheck in an envelope marked "Please return to Admin. Assistant, will re-use" um, well ... let's just say that nonprofit may not be the life for me.

Life at the cattery

2005-07-29T08:12:00.000-05:00

I must blog about my cats. For they have become my life. And lately, life isn't so grand.

I blame Banana. She's the foster kitty who needs to be spayed once she's out of heat as well as have surgery on her ear.

The offenses:

The first night LISBF and I slept at my house with the new kitties (they were still separated in the second bedroom) she CRIED AND CRIED all night long. And not just I'm-so-sad-and-scared-cause-I'm-in-a-strange-new-place cries. We're talking deep, grumbling yelps. Something to do with her being in heat, I guess.

She scratched the SHIT out of my arm when I had to carry her down the ladder from the attic, after she'd followed me up there. It was SWELTERING hot up there, and I had gone up to open the windows to create a cross breeze. I turn around, and there's Banana, trotting all over the Fiberglas. LISBF doesn't understand why I was so surprised to see her. But Cairo (my good dominant kitty) just sits at the bottom of the ladder and cries for me while I'm in the attic. It never occurs to him that he might be able to follow me up. And wherever Banana goes, Luna follows. So as I started down the ladder, I looked up to see Luna. I was carrying them both down when the scratching occurred. Good thing I was observant, or I would have had a couple of crispy kitties.

Then, yesterday afternoon, I came home to cat puke ALL OVER my kitchen. On the stove. On the counter. Running down the front of the stove. Running down the front of the counter. In front of the refrigerator. And covering a full 2/3 of the surface area of the floor. I cannot describe to you how foul and nasty it was.

I do know ... I can't take 10 years of this.

Apparently, Banana doesn't realize how close she is to the chopping block.

I know!

2005-07-28T14:22:00.000-05:00

I've been busy.

SHEESH.

That crazy cat woman

2005-07-25T13:08:00.000-05:00

Unlike some people, I am not embarrassed to blog about my pets.

A conversation via e-mail:

M1: It is currently 85 and rising in my office. The air conditioning is
still broken. I want to go home.

M2: Man, that doesn't even seem legal. Sue 'em.

M1: If I die from heatstroke, save this e-mail as evidence for negligence.

M2: Will do. Who gets Willow? I'm still for Princeton.

LCN: I'll take Willow. I mean, really, at this point ... what's one more?

Thanks, Chicago

2005-07-22T08:07:00.000-05:00

Our little town recently unveiled its second community art project, ala Chicago's Cows on Parade. The first time we tried this, several Fiberglas forms were stolen, broken or otherwise vandalized ... proving that we're just not mature enough for public art around here.

But that didn't stop them. A new batch of giant animal statues have invaded the streets. They're quite fun, really. I enjoying walking around town and looking at all of them. So that's why I sought out a map during a recent festival downtown.

The organizers of the art project put out maps that list each piece's location, sponsor and artist. I spied a booth set up at the festival and went over to grab a map. But it wasn't a map. It was a raffle ticket to win [Americow the Beautiful].

The thing I like least about this public art thing, is how the pieces are puns off the type of animal, just like in Chicago ... Lactose Intolerabull, Lady Camoolot, Metallicow, Tutancowmoon ... although a different animal, the names are all in that vein.

There were two ladies standing at the table. One was older, probably a volunteer. The other was a festival-goer with her two smallish children in tow. I put back the raffle ticket and asked the lady behind the table if there were any maps.

Lady: We should have more maps in about 45 minutes. But you could enter to win [Americow the Beautiful]! For only five dollars!

LCN: There are a great number of [cows] that I would like to win, but [Americow] is not one of them.

Other Lady with children: Well then if you win you could just donate it back to the children who designed it.

LCN: *thoughtful pause* Meh. I don't really like kids either.

If you give a mouse a cookie ...

2005-07-21T07:49:00.000-05:00

He'll ask for a glass of milk. By the end of the book, he has the run of the whole house.

And apparently if you visit the animal shelter and adopt a kitten, you'll just end up getting another one. At least I did.

That's right, yesterday morning before work I picked up Luna at the vet's and brought her home. Yesterday after work I met the Ms at the shelter where we picked up Banana and brought her home, too.

Last week, when the three of us went to the shelter with the intent to find another cat for M1, we all fell in love with Banana. The shelter workers had named her Cricket, but M2 took a look at her cage and said "How about Banana over here?" She's mottled orange and black, with a white tummy and nose. And she's had a hard life.

Year and a half old, needs surgery to remove a polyp on her ear (that makes her dog her head crookedly while she's walking around. Too cute!) but she wasn't able to have surgery until she had her litter. Then she had to nurse her litter, then they were all adopted and she developed upper respiratory so she was too sick to have surgery, now she's in heat and would have to wait to have surgery...

She was supposed to be euthanized yesterday.

M1 works with a woman who's on the board of directors for the Humane Society. When she mentioned to M1 that the shelter was going to have to start euthanizing because they just cannot continue to operate with such an overflow of animals, M1 went into mission mode.

I received frantic voicemails throughout the day while I was at my conference. By the end of the day, I was fostering Banana through her surgery period and adopting her once she's recovered.

How quickly I went from being an average person with two cats to a crazy person with four cats.

For some reason, when one cat is granted reprieve, two are spared. I didn't want to know which other cat was supposed to die. It was sad enough walking around the cages and seeing who was missing since Sunday, the last day I had visited Luna.

The moral of the story is ... no more naming animals we meet at the shelter, unless we're prepared to take them home.

Fun with my differently-abled friend

2005-07-19T13:40:00.000-05:00

As some of you will remember, I have a friend who has cerebral palsy. When we go out together, we use her ambulatory wheelchair, because she cannot stand or walk on her own.

The skin around her throat is tight, giving her a gaunt appearance. Her fingers are gnarled and curled. Her head has a slight, uncontrollable bob and she sometimes drools. Her speach is garbled and not always easily understood.

Most people see her and assume she's retarded. But her mind does not suffer.

She loves to shop at Petsmart. That store is the bane of my existance. It's twice as expensive to buy anything there than it is to purchase the same product at any other store. They only ever have one check-out line open. And by the time we're done shopping, we're lucky if we can see the point where the line meets up with a cashier. A rude cashier at that. After all, we are in Petsmart.

Up until a few months ago, my friend had two cats. Even though she only has one now, she still buys just as much. That is to say, she shops like a person who can't just get in the car and drive over to Petsmart any old time she wants to. She shops like a person who has to rely on others to take her there. She shops like a person who thinks this may be the very last time she ever goes to this store because I CAN NOT STAND IT.

Consequently, when we finally roll up to the cash register and the cashier takes one glance at the arsenol of canned cat food in our cart, we are greeted with "Whoa! How many cats do you have!?!"

At which point I put on my most confused look and reply, "Oh, that's for her.*" I say as I motion toward the wheelchair. Sometimes, if she can suppress her giggles well enough, she'll just smile broadly and nod her head eagerly.

This little joke we share makes trips to Petsmart worthwhile.

*It should be noted that this was all LISBF's idea. I was complaining (again) one night about how much I hate Petsmart and how surprised the cashiers are when they ask how many cats she has and I say two. And LISBF thought ... you know what will REALLY surprise them ...

I saw Superman getting it on

2005-07-18T14:57:00.000-05:00

M1 and I went out to lovely semi-fancy dinner together last week. As we pulled into the parking log, we parked in a space next to one of those "I'm really proud of my truck" trucks that had a Superman decal on its back window. M1 was the one to notice it. The truck was on my side of the car, and when I got out, I noticed that there was also a smaller Superman decal painted on the side of the car, right behind the turn signal.

We parked next to Superman.

We laughed about it. We walked inside. We ate our dinner.

After our meal, we headed out to the parking lot. M1 noticed that the truck's tail lights were on.

"Guess Superman's leaving, too. Bye Superman!"

We both waved.

As I slid into the passenger's seat of M1's car, I took a peek in the cab. I was curious to see what kind of person would drive a big honking truck decked out with Superman decals.

To my surprise and horror ... they were fucking in the front seat.

LCN: "Oh my God! They're totally fucking in the front seat!" (Did I mention this was beneath a street light in a parking lot for a chain restaurant!?!)

M1: "They are NOT!"

LCN: *Shouting loudly and frantically waving a pointed finger* "They are! They are! They are! They're fucking in the front seat!"

Superman was reclined in the front seat. Supergirl was on top of him, thrusting. Her shirt was hiked up, exposing her bare back. We watched as Superman flung Supergirl's bra across the seat.

M1 began backing up, and I rolled down my window. He laid on the horn, while I pumped my fists in the air shouting "Woo-hoo! Go Superman! Yeah!"

We kept our eyes on the cab and saw Superman extend his right arm and give us a short wave. With the flick of his wrist, we knew everything was going to be okay.

Kitten, kitten, who's got the kitten?

2005-07-15T08:49:00.000-05:00

Last night, I adopted a kitten.

It started innocently, or so I thought. M1 has been thinking about getting a playmate for his cat for a while now. So M2 and I accompanied him to the Humane Society.

M1 had originally adopted two cats, and one died about two months later. He thought maybe the cat had been locked in a closet, so in the morning he left all the closet doors open. Came home to find him dead. It was quite tragic. But I digress...

As soon as I arrived, M2 asked "Are you ready to take one home?"

The place was overflowing with cats. There is a surplus this year, so you get special discounts for taking home adult cats. There were cages in the area normally used to house puppies, even cages in the storage area. Tons and tons of cats.

But I had to have this cute little gray kitten. It was in a cage with two other cats, a black and a tuxedo, which happen to be the same as the two cats I already own. So I knew she would color coordinate nicely.

Now the only question is ... what to name her?

Here's the list I've got so far...

Wicket
Racket
Solo
Olive
Isle

I wanted to name her Liquid, but M1 and LISBF objected. As LISBF said "What are you gonna call her, Lick?"

La Chat's out of the bag

2005-07-14T08:04:00.000-05:00

Last night, I told LISBF about my blog.

He was reading an article in the paper about how some bloggers are finding out the consequences of divulging their personal information for all to read. And I asked if I could see it when he was done. So, he jokingly prodded, "You don't have a blog, do you?"

When I first set up this blog, I thought it would be easier to keep it a secret from my real life people. I didn't want to be feel constricted, that I couldn't write something because someone I knew would be reading it. My blog was just taking shape, and I didn't want to be limited.

As it evolved, it turned out that everything I post I've already told LISBF about anyway. Then, of course, there was the tiny part of me that worried he might think it was silly. So, blogging just hadn't really come up. But when he asked last night, even jokingly, I felt like not telling him would be deliberately keeping it from him.

As usual, when we keep things from those we love, I have hurt him. And for that I am very sorry.

But, La Chat's out of the bag, now. So, welcome, LISBF. Make yourself at home.

Off the air

2005-06-20T16:01:00.000-05:00

I've become extremely overwhelmed as of late. Since I don't have a computer at home, all of my blogging is done at work. What little time I have left over at the end of the day, I've been filling with duties from my second job as a director of a local coalition against sexual assault. And grants are due soon.

Worse than not blogging, I'm not reading other blogs (I know things are bad when I've skipped PLD for the day!). And for me, blogging is so much more than writing. It's reading, and connecting. I don't like doing anything half-ass. And I feel it is unfair to the two of you who still check my blog if I'm not posting regularly.

I hope this is not adieu forever, but merely a hiatus until I get through my busy season.

So for those of you who've kept on visiting my blog, thank you.

And to all of you that I've enjoyed reading, I hope you keep it up. You're an insightful, interesting selection of people. And I've enjoyed absorbing your byte vibes.

*le sigh*

La Chat Noir

Gay for a day

2005-06-13T10:58:00.000-05:00

M1 and I went to our first Pride Festival this weekend. It was TONS O' FUN.

Festivities kicked off with a parade of dykes on bikes, the Bear Pack, itty bitty boys in ittier bittier shorts shaking their groove thing and, of course, a healthy dose of drag queens. One of which caused M1 to utter the words "Oh honey, shave off the beard!"

M1 decided that I should be a lesbian for the day. He suggested Melissa. But if I were going to be a lesbian, I would TOTALLY want to be Ellen. One, I respect her a lot. Two, she gets to make out with Portia. HOT.

After the parade there was music, dancing and loads of information booths in the park. I spun a wheel and the booth people rigged it so I won the prize I wanted, a Divas CD. M1 walked up to the wheel saying "Come on, feather boa!" And he won mints. He was a little put out.

We wanted to bring back souvenirs for M2, so we loaded up on condoms and lube. We also found a beanie bear with SLUT emblazoned across its chest. Perfect.

Best find by far was the Bush/Cheney magnet pictured. Available for purchase at www.allposters.com (just do a search for "Bush magnet").

There were three lone protestors, so that was nice. It looked like they might be three generations of one family. One man was around 60 years old, another man around 40 and the third was a teenager. He's the one I feel sorriest for. They were pretty quiet. They just walked around holding their signs. All three quoted from the bible. One read "the real solution to gay marriage" next a drawing of two nooses.

Some people hurled insults toward them, some people quoted other Biblical references to them, most people ignored them. M1 wanted to spit on their signs. I convinced him it might not be the best move.

Instead, we walked around them. All the while I channeled my thoughts with a single prayer for them ... May you someday have love in your hearts.

Told you it was funny

2005-06-10T09:45:00.000-05:00

-----Original Message-----
From: M2
Sent: Friday, June 10, 2005 9:32 AM
To: LCN, M1
Subject: Email

I think my work email might be working again.

-----Original Message-----
From: LCN
Sent: Friday, June 10, 2005 9:36 AM
To: M2
Cc: M1
Subject: Test

BITCH SHIT FUCK WHOREBAG

Working?

-----Original Message-----
From: M2
Sent: Friday, June 10, 2005 9:40 AM
To: LCN
Cc: M1
Subject: Re: Test

I'll know better when my eyes stop burning.

LCN wrote:
> B[EN]CH SHI[NE] FU[LLBA]CK WHO[ ]RE[ADS][ ]BAG[UETTES]
>
> Working?

-----Original Message-----
From: M1
Sent: Friday, June 10, 2005 10:00 AM
To: LCN
Cc: M2
Subject: Re: Test

DAMN SHIT MOTHERFUCKER COCK MONKEY

Yep, seems to be working fine ...

-----Original Message-----
From: M2
Sent: Friday, June 10, 2005 10:34 AM
To: M1
Cc: LCN
Subject: Re: Test

You guys really do love me!

M1 wrote:
> DAM[P] SH[Y] MOTHE[AT]E[N] [S]OCK MONKEY
>
> Yep, seems to be working fine ...

Re: Neil Armstrong

2005-06-09T16:56:00.000-05:00

A conversation over e-mail.

M1: Crazy!

LCN: $3000?? ... wonder how much his pubes would be worth...

M2: I shake my head at this talk.

M1: I am appalled as are my coworkers.

M2: By the barber or by Neil?

M1: By LCN.

LCN: And by appalled you mean you wish you'd thought of it first...

M1: Precisely. And so did my coworkers. But, as [M1's officemate] said, Neil obviously gets the Brazilian wax, so you would have to pick all the hairs out to sell them. And who wants to do that?

Splat!

2005-06-09T07:56:00.000-05:00

We've been having some gorgeous summer evenings lately. It's not even buggy like it usually is this time of year.

After pricey dinner at Outback, LISBF suggested I hang the hammock in the back yard. He got in first, on one side. And I sat on the other side, pushing my feet against the ground to get us swinging.

Two apartments ago, I had a huge deck to hang the hammock from. It was fabulous. We spent time out on the deck all summer. But this is the first time both of us have gotten in the hammock at my new house.

The people who lived there before me also had a hammock. They put one hook into the corner of the garage (which they removed and took with them), and the other into a maple tree. The tree has started to grow over that hook, so it's anchored in there pretty well.

I just used the hole they already drilled in the garage for my hook.

Bad idea.

As LISBF said, "as soon as I heard it start to creak, I knew we were goners."

One second, I was starting the hammock swinging. The next second, we were on the ground. LISBF landed on his back. I landed on my tailbone. Neither of us were hurt badly.

At first we laughed. Then we talked about maybe using a bolt or reinforcing the wood in the garage to get the hammock hanging again.

Then we were silent. Laying on the ground in my back yard. Enjoying a beautiful, non-buggy nearly summer night.

Glad he's not dead...

2005-06-08T13:12:00.000-05:00

A conversation over e-mail.

--FRIDAY--

LCN: I'm thinking about working till 8pm. Would it delay our plans terribly? I'm thinking ... we might be JUST IN TIME for Cosmic Bowling!!!

M2: This is fine by me. I could even do laundry pre-bowling!

LCN: K... Then I will just plan to come over to chez M2 aprÃ¨s work, around 8pm. Call me if plans change ...

M2: Okay! I don't know where our dear friend M1 is, though!

LCN: I tried calling him and left a message on his work VM. Sure do hope he's not dead.

M2: I would be really bummed if he were dead.

LCN: If he IS dead, I call dibs on his ipod. You already have the shuffle. And you can have Princeton*. That seems fair.

M2: That is fair. Good call. Can I have his superhero stuff, too?

--MONDAY--

M1: Absolutely not. I want the superhero stuff burned and the ashes
mixed with mine. That way we can be together forever. Except for my Spiderman toy. It's Marvel and I don't want that sullying my afterlife. Blintzes**.

M2: Dang. I guess I'll have to make do with Princeton - I'll dress him up in superhero outfits.

LCN: I'm just glad you're not dead. But I'm also wondering if your superheroes would really burn and turn ash. Or if they might just melt. Mixing with your ashes to form a gooey ball o' M1. Hmmmmmmm...

M2: Maybe we could form the gooey Ball O' M1 into a shape, like a lion*** or something.

M1: Or a little M1 statue. Or maybe several little mice, that way Princeton and I could still play fetch.

*Princeton, M1's cat, has the sweetest temperament. And he LOVES to play fetch with those little mice. He'll bring it over in his mouth and drop it at your feet. Again and again.

**Anytime M1 or I swear in an e-mail, when M2 replies, he edits the swearing. It's something different every time. Recently, he changed one of my Bitches! to B[L]I[N]T[Z]ES!

***A reference to Wonderfalls, one of the Best.Shows.Ever. Sadly, cancelled after only 13 episodes were made. They are available on DVD for your viewing pleasure.

I've never really had a place where everybody knows my name...

2005-06-07T13:52:00.000-05:00

M2 is ADDICTED to Starbucks' hot chocolate. But only the Starbucks at the Barnes and Nobles store. Plain old Starbucks stores don't make it right in our area. He likes a second pump of chocolate. And the baristas know it.

He'll drink it through winter and summer. Although he's slowed down in the last couple of months, for a while he was drinking three or four a week. Minimum. Consequently, often when he goes in, he doesn't even need to place his order. They've already made it and rung him up as soon as they spotted him.

I've never had a place where I was recognized. Sure, the weird waiter at the Olive Garden might remember what I ordered last time he waited on me (Gorgonzola steak pasta) but today, I experienced instant recognition.

I walked into Jimmy John's to pick up some lunch, and the girlie at the end of the counter shouted my order to the line of employees on the sandwich-making chain.

"Number five, with mayo, extra tomato, salt and vinegar chips and a diet."

That's me.

Crash: a review

2005-06-03T08:04:00.000-05:00

The Ms and I went to see Crash last night. What an awful movie.

It was predictable. Not at all plausible. Overwrought. Contrived. And OH SO CLICHE.

But it was meaningful. Well, at least it thought it was. EVERY SINGLE SCENE seemed to scream "Look at our deep and moving message!" And what was that message? That we all think in one-dimensional stereotypes.

And what better way to illustrate the fact that we make incorrect assumptions based on appearances and skin color because we're all too bigoted to look beyond one-dimensional stereotypes than to portray EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER in the movie as a thoughtless, careless, insensitive one-dimensional stereotype. (Except for the one Mexican locksmith. The one who was an honest worker. A family man worried about the safety of his five year-old daughter who was enrolled in a private Catholic school. Nice touch, but who really buys that?)

It wasn't a total loss. Crash did teach me a few things:

1. Everybody who lives in L.A. is a big ole racist.

2. The six degrees of Kevin Bacon is very much alive in L.A.

3. Cops are scum. Prussians aren't Arabs. Rich white women are selfish bitches. Mexicans don't come from El Salvador OR Puerto Rico, but they still all park their cars on the lawn. Chinese (or were they Thai? Eh? Does it really matter?) are so rich because they sell their fellow humans into bondage. And the black guy always gets shot.

That's what I got out of it, anyway. But what do I know? I'm just some dumb-ass honky.

From La Chat Noir's Inbox

2005-06-01T10:54:00.000-05:00

Background: M2 lives in a ghetto area of town. M1 and I have been saying that we're going to find him some spiffy new digs when his lease is up this summer.

-----Original Message-----
From: M1
Sent: Wednesday, June 01, 2005 10:48 AM
To: M2
Cc: LCN
Subject: Why M2 must move

A dead body was found yesterday not all that far from his house. It had been there for a couple of weeks. You live near a body dumping ground.

Wow with the excitement

2005-05-31T13:23:00.000-05:00

I had the most exciting Saturday.

First, while working in the backyard (turns out most of the pretty things I have growing are weeds) I let my older kitty, Cairo, hang out. I'm trying to train him to stay in the yard. I have friends who have done so successfully. Though Cairo is difficult to train to do anything, since he has a brain the size of a walnut.

Anyhoo, when my back was turned, a neighborhood cat that I hate had entered the yard and the two of them got into a fight. Hissing. Growling. Scratching. Biting. I got them separated and Cairo retreated to the daylilies. Which kind of made him look like a cute little jungle cat. Still pissed off, he was NOT AT ALL interested in being picked up and taken inside.

Then, my lawnmower blew up when I was mowing the lawn! Well, not blew up, exactly. But huge puffs of smoke wafted out and then it died. Leaving my lawn with one strip down the center ... ala Brazilian bikini wax.

BUT THEN ... M1 and I went out to eat a small, but good, Chinese buffet. Where I helped myself to some cheese sticks (ya know, the kind you can buy in the frozen food section of Sam's Club) and when I pulled up one of the sticks with some tongs, all of its cheese innards stuck to the bottom of the pan.

There at the restaurant, I back-talked the hunk of melted cheese ... "Oh no you didn't!" as I pulled it up off the bottom of the pan. What the hell is wrong with me?

It was after we'd finished eating that the excitement came. There were only four tables filled at the restaurant. I had a view of all of them, M1 had his back to most. And we were sitting there talking, complaining about how overcooked our fortune cookies were and how lame-ass the fortunes within have become ... when I looked over and saw this kid choking.

He was sitting with his parents in a booth against the window. Probably 12 or 13 years old. And I just called out "Oh my God, he's choking!" At which point his dad yanked him out of the booth and his mom is crying "Can you breathe, honey? Can you breathe?" No breaths. No gasps. No choking sounds. Just a panicked little kid starting to lose his color.

One of the tables was a group of about six high school students. At some point during the commotion. They all got up, walked over to the cash register and paid their bill. What the hell is wrong with them? We couldn't believe they weren't even waiting to see whether or not the kid would live.

A woman from another booth jumped up and ran over as she yelled at the waitress and owner who were also crowded around ... "Call 911!"

I had already fished my cell out of my purse and dialed, and M1 told them as much. We just sat in our booth and he said "we're calling" while I relayed the info to the dispatch operator. After what seemed like an awful lot of stomach thrusts, eventually the dad was able to dislodge, um, the pile of partially chewed food goo. And some vomity/choking sounds ensued.

At that point I went to the mother and asked if she still wanted a medic. She said no, he was okay. He's breathing. So I told the dispatcher to cancel the medic. Even if he didn't end up needing one, it's better to have them on the way then to call them five minutes too late.

They wiped off the booth. The kid slid back in. Picked up his fork ... and immediately began shoveling in the sweet and sour. Ugh.

After that, I couldn't even finish my overcooked fortune cookie with its lame-ass fortune hidden within. Guess fortune chose to smile on someone else this time.

Kitty MIA

2005-05-26T07:59:00.000-05:00

When I went home for lunch yesterday, I discovered that I'd left my back door open all night long. Fortunately, my screen door latches tightly. But I was still worried because I hadn't seen Quirkie.

Quirkie is my shy little meek kitty. She's V. sweet and oh-so-cute-and-cuddly, but she's rarely seen when others are around. I spent about 40 minutes looking for her and came up with nothing.

She's a good hider. She rarely makes any noise. The recently installed cat flap means there are a gazillion dark areas of the basement where she could be hanging out.

I was trying not to over-react. When I first moved into my house last July, I had lost my other kitty, Cairo, for about three days. I KNEW he had run away. Turns out, he was only "lost" in the basement.

When I got back to work, I left a message for LISBF. Somehow, even though he has his spiffy new cell phone, he's not instantly accessible at all times...

LISBF got to my house at about 7:30pm, when I was still out. He called to give me the good news:

LCN: QUIRKIE?

LISBF: Quirkie's here.

LCN: Where was she?

LISBF: Under the dining table. I haven't questioned her yet.

Speaking of naughty phone calls to LISBF...

2005-05-25T10:12:00.000-05:00

LISBF's place of work issued him a cell phone last week. It's V. fancy and V. heavy. Takes pictures, videos, weighs down bodies in the river ... pretty much all the standard features you could get on a phone nowadays.

He spent all weekend tinkering with it. Trying it out. He doesn't have a personal cell, so this will be great for moi! No longer will I have to try three different extensions to try and track him down. Or send a page and hope that he'll get around to answering it by the end of the day.

LISBF should now be accessible AT ANY TIME.

On Monday, I thought I'd test it out. I dialed his number, and after about three rings, he picked up.

I told him that I couldn't BELIEVE I'd missed my V. important meeting. Blah blah blah. He stuck to his usual vague responses. "Yep. That's too bad. Uh, huh. Oh, nothing. Okay, that sounds good."

And I'm sure everyone remembers how I respond to THAT.

After he hung up, a co-worker leaned over and said "You might want to learn how to turn down the volume on your personal calls."

From La Chat Noir's Inbox

2005-05-24T11:07:00.000-05:00

-----Original Message-----
From: Nice, if a little dumb, HR guy
Sent: Tuesday, May 24, 2005 10:56 AM
To: Office
Subject: Office Building

Just a heads up to everyone: We have reached a verbal agreement with [local business tycoon] to purchase the [former furniture building nearby]. We hope to have a signed agreement today or early tomorrow. You might see some people around today taking pictures of our building so they can get it on the market ASAP. I will keep everyone posted as everything happens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Um ... I guess this means we're moving?

So long, my Very Own OfficeTM ... Hello! Cubicle City!

Space cadet

2005-05-23T10:26:00.000-05:00

I missed a really important meeting this morning. A meeting that I scheduled. It just completely slipped my mind.

Apparently someone else from my team was 20 minutes late. How are these people we're meeting with supposed to take us seriously if we don't even show up for the meeting? They won't.

I won't go into the fact that if I had been the person at the meeting, and someone else was a no show, I'd conduct the meeting without that person. EVEN IF they were the one to schedule said meeting. Afterward, I'd call and say "Dude, where the hell were you?" rather than call said person at 9:35am when the meeting was scheduled for 9am. Thus drawing attention to the fact that said person totally forgot about a really important meeting. An important meeting that they scheduled. So that they can show up right as the important people who remembered the meeting are leaving. Because they have busy schedules and can't be expected to sit around waiting for someone who arrives at a meeting nearly an hour late.

The last time I remember thinking about this meeting was Friday night. I didn't remember yesterday, when I was packing my clothes for LISBFs house ... did I mention that I am wearing totally inappropriate meeting attire? With tattoos showing? At least I did manage to shower this morning ...

I'm normally very reliable. But this is the second time in three weeks that I've totally spaced a meeting.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

This just in...

2005-05-19T14:38:00.000-05:00

Friend at lunch: I'm so jealous you went to Star Wars last night.

LCN: It was fun.

FAL: What did you think of the movie?

LCN: It was fine. Whole lotta sci-fi. And who knew a swordfight could go on that long...

FAL: You mean light sabres.

LCN: What?

FAL: They don't have swords. They have light sabres.

LCN: Right... Um, I saw a wookiee...

My stalker was at Star Wars

2005-05-19T08:15:00.000-05:00

The Ms, this guy Steve from improv, and I went out to see the midnight showing of Star Wars last night. It was fun. I saw a wookiee. I napped through most of the movie. Have I mentioned I haven't seen any of the episodes?

We arrived about 11pm, and they were already seating our theater, so we got some nice seats. And about 11:40, I spotted my stalker walking up the side aisle. He slide into the row in front of us, sitting directly in front of the Ms.

I recognized him right away, even though I haven't seen him in seven years.

I was raised in Wyoming and attended college at a large university in the midwest. I moved out of my parents' house one week after high school graduation and I've never lived there since. Not even for a summer. I was living several states away in a place where I didn't know anyone else. I eventually made some friends living in the dorm. Emily, from Hong Kong, introduced me to the world of chat rooms.

I had no idea chatting online was something people really did. I thought it was a weird made-up subculture sometimes referred to in movies. The only home computer I had ever known was a Commodore 64. So all-night computer labs with lightning fast internet connections were a novelty to me. I would hit a lab after dinner and stay there till well past midnight, chatting online. And that's where I met my stalker.

I "met" several people online who attended my university or other nearby schools. I viewed it as a great way to meet people. And I revealed too much about myself. My name, where I lived, classes I was enrolled in, activities I was involved in ... and pretty soon, my stalker knew my schedule.

He would wait for me outside of class ... call me all the time ... drop by my dorm unannounced. He thought we had made a connection and he wanted me to be his girlfriend.

He may very well be a nice guy, just socially awkward and incredibly lonely. He's tall, like 6'6" or so. Medium build with broad shoulders. Dark, greasy hair that he slicks back. Rough skin. Bad teeth. Kind of what you would expect your stalker to look like.

He never physically harmed me. He never threatened me. The scariest thing he ever did was track me down to the small, experimental black box theater late one Sunday night. I had been recruited to be the light board op for the first play of the season. The lighting designer was a guy named Mike who was working in the light lab when I came around to explore the theater facilities before classes had even started. Mike was the first person I met at school.

So Mike and I were alone in this tiny theater that's rather hard to search out if you've never been there before. When all of the sudden, a door opens. And there's my stalker, standing in the doorway.

"I just had to see you today," he said.

I froze. I was shocked, scared, embarrassed... Mike could tell something was amiss. So he just told my stalker, "I think you need to leave."

After that, I filed a complaint with the campus police. I never saw him again. Until last night.

I know he saw me, too.

The guys were talking movies, when M2 said "You guys! [LCN] hasn't seen that yet!" At the mention of my name, my stalker turned around and looked right at me. My name is rather uncommon and very memorable. He knew it was me.

He kept shooting glances at me. Kept jumping into their conversation. At one point, M2 even leaned forward and talked with him for a few minutes. The whole while, I never met his gaze.

Like I said, I napped through the movie, so I was pretty sleepy when it finally ended (I mean HOW LONG can a sword fight go on, really?) and I didn't give my stalker a second thought. By the time I remembered him, he was gone.

Keep your boob in your blouse

2005-05-18T09:40:00.000-05:00

As you might recall, I recently took on a second job as director of a local coalition against sexual assault. Part of the gig is attending project directors meetings for the organization that funds most of our grants.

I've already noticed that babies are also part of the gig. There has been at least one baby present at every meeting I've attended since April 1. There have been ugly babies. There have been noisy babies. There have been distracting and disruptive babies. There have even been babies that are FAR TOO OLD to still be referred to as babies.

Background info: I'm not so much into the babies.

So there I am, sitting at this project directors meeting, when I glance over and see that one of the attendees has whipped out her boob and is just feeding the baby (Dakota? Sylvan? Griffin?) at the table.

Let me clear up a few points ... It's a meeting of about a dozen people. We're all sitting around a table. There is a mix of men and women. No blanket was used. Boob and baby were in full view of everyone present. Lunch was catered. Some of us were trying to eat.

I lean liberal in just about everything. But I am not on board with public breastfeeding. Especially when said boob is on display for all to see. Not to mention the audible suckling.

That goes for all evacuation of bodily fluids in public. I don't want to see you spit. I don't want to see you pee. And I don't want to see you breastfeed.

Everybody loves Elongated Man, aka the post I almost posted

2005-05-16T10:59:00.000-05:00

Editor's note: I had written a probably too lengthy post that started out about M1's birthday festivities and then evolved into a rant session about M2's girlie. As you all know, M2 is the only person I know IRL that knows about this blog. Darn not-quite-complete anonymity. So, in lieu of the whole big long post (AS IF you all want to hear me bitch about her eighth grade behavior) I give you, the beginning, the middle and the end.

THE BEGINNING

M1's birthday was on Saturday. We celebrated Friday night with bowling and food afterward at a wing joint. M2 and I had a cake made with M1's favorite superhero, Elongated Man. It went over BIG TIME. We brought Elongated Man color-coordinated tableware, a balloon with his name on it and of course, presents. According to M1, I brought the Best.Gift.Ever and the Funniest.Card.Ever.

But not everyone was having fun. The Ms and I can get into Musketeers mode and lock other people out sometimes, so I made a conscious effort to be inclusionary. But M2's girlie would not have it. She was obstinate and difficult and downright bitchy. Background reminder: M1 has been friends with girlie LONG before anyone even knew M2. So she was actually invited as a friend and not just somebody's girlfriend, even though that's how she acted.

THE MIDDLE

This is where I listed all her catty, boorish offenses ...
She was also among a pair that was complaining all night about how much the evening's events were going to end up costing her. Um, $2 shoe rental, $3 per game, and $10 for food at the wing joint after. Background info: When girlie had HER birthday party earlier this year, she invited everyone out to dinner at THE MOST EXPENSIVE RESTAURANT IN TOWN. We're talking a minimum of $30 a plate, people. Hello, Pot? This is Kettle ...

Miss Manners would say that if you can't afford to bowl two games, sit out the second. Or sit out both and just cheer others on. If you can't afford a late dinner at the wing joint, have something to eat before the party (we started at 7) and just order a coke. If you truly can't afford to watch other people bowl (free) and order a coke at the wing joint ($1.49) then you should politely decline the party invitation and send your best wishes.

La Chat Noir would say that partygoers who DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO BRING A CARD for the birthday boy and DIDN'T CHIP IN ANY MONEY for his bowling, drinks or dinner, have no business standing around bitching about how much how much cheaper it would have been had we gone to the shady bowling alley on the other side of town.

THE END

At one point in the evening, M2 used a naughty word (whore) and M1 said to girlie, "We're corrupting your boyfriend." She cockily asserted that she's corrupted him way more than M1 or I ever could.

Because ever since she's broken up our band (a la Yoko), it's become a competition for M2. Who gets to spend time with him. Who loves him more. Who knows him best. Who has made a bigger impact on his life.

Showing unordinary restraint, I did not utter the thought that ran through my head: Oh, honey, you're sex for now ... we're friends for life.

Reality check

2005-05-13T08:35:00.000-05:00

As you may recall, I watch entirely too much TV.

I haven't been keeping up on The Apprentice this season, but when I've caught an episode or two, I have to say I've been pulling for Tana. She's smart, sassy and actually nice. I was thrilled to see her vying for the top spot last night.

I only caught the last 20 minutes or so, and I was behind my favorite M.I.L.F. the entire way, until she started to defend herself in the board room.

She went on and on about how she got her education "from the street" (the theme this season was Book Smarts vs. Street Smarts) and how she's fought for everything she's ever achieved because she didn't finish college and she learned "on the street."

Um, yo home girl! You sell Mary Kay. And you live in Iowa.

Because I don't know what words mean

2005-05-12T10:07:00.000-05:00

The Ms are constantly teasing me that I don't know what words mean. I often use the wrong word, or transpose letters, or make up my own version of a word (i.e. apprehensious). But I usually don't realize I'm in the wrong. I pretty much always think I'm right.

Often, it's M1 who catches the slip-up. I always explain myself by stating that "When I think of that word, I think of ..." and M1 always replies, "Okay, but you'd be WRONG."

One of the more famous misuses was haberdashery. I thought they grew herbs. Turns out, they make hats.

This morning, I was giving LISBF a ride into work so that his kid could have the car for the day. And I was telling him about some new clothes I ordered from Eddie Bauer. I like ordering online because then I can earn miles toward my frequent flier account. And if he's ever shopping with online realtors, he should tell me, so that I can get miles.

Blink. Blink.

LISBF: Why would I ever shop with an online realtor?

LCN: Not just a realtor who sells houses, but other realtors, too. There are ALL SORTS of realtors whose sites count toward my mileage account.

Blink. Blink.

LCN: OH! I mean RETAILER!

LISBF: I couldn't figure out why you thought I'd be interested in buying property online.

That'd be the secret code

2005-05-10T13:20:00.000-05:00

LIBSF works in a place where he doesn't have his Very Own OfficeTM, per se. There is an office, and he has his own extension with VM, but it's not a private place where he can shut the door and know no one will walk in on him. Because several workers use "the" office.

So if we're talking on the phone, and he says "Okay, that sounds good." It's code for "somebody just walked in and I should get off the phone."

We didn't specifically ever define it, I just notice that's what he says. He's not much of a phone talker anyway, so when I hear "Okay, that sounds good" we've maybe only been talking a couple of minutes.

Since I DO have my Very Own OfficeTM, when I hear the words "Okay, that sounds good" I respond with something like "Remember when I was sucking your dick last night?"

And that's pretty much when he says "Gotta go, bye!" and hangs up.

Ah, the perks of having my Very Own OfficeTM.

Fun with the cat flap

2005-05-10T09:23:00.000-05:00

LISBF installed a cat flap in the door to my basement this weekend.

Since I've moved into my house, I've been keeping the catbox in the corner of the kitchen. GROSS. I have wanted to move it to the basement, but was not interested in just leaving the basement door propped open all the time.

I have a 1931 bungalow with natural woodwork, and a large part of me struggled with the decision to cut into a nice, old wood door. My mother had suggested I buy a cheap door and install it, and cut through that. My response: Just what I've always wanted, to live in a house with a cheap door!

But I decided to go through with it. I was a tad concerned the kitties might have difficulty jumping through a flap to steps on the other side. But they seem to have adapted nicely, now that we've "trained" them.

Training consisted of me sitting on the landing to the basement steps, and LISBF on the other side of the door in the kitchen. We took turns shoving the kitties back and forth a few times. Then, we'd hold open the flap for them to go through themselves.

Much like the cat in the photo, Kitten One looks like he's barely squeezing through. Kitten Two put up more of a fight, she was NOT interested in going through that hole. But by the end of the evening, we had witnessed both kittens coming back from the basement all on their own.

Yeah! For how quickly kittens can be potty trained to adapt.

WTF?

2005-05-09T11:02:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, I ran into an acquaintance that I haven't seen in a long while.

"I've been wanting to see you!" He said. "I hear you're pregnant!"

Um, WTF?

Nope.

Give me a second to pound my chest and get my heart beating again...

"I could have sworn Becky told me LCN is pregnant," he said. "Is there another LCN?"

Yeah. She used to work at the center, but doesn't anymore. And she's due in July.

"So you're not pregnant?"

Nope. But I will accept gifts.

He's the best!

2005-05-05T14:47:00.000-05:00

M2 just dropped by my office to surprise me with Soft Batch cookies.

w00t!

Wearing thin in the peeing place

2005-05-05T09:42:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, while taking a pee in the bathroom located right next door to my office, I glanced down and noticed my jeans were getting THIN.

This was especially disheartening cause I had specifically chosen to wear my second favorite pair of jeans yesterday when I noticed how worn my favorite pair has become. Now, I'll soon be out my two favorite pairs of jeans. And beyond that, I only have jeans suitable for yard work.

To complicate matters, the style of my favorite jeans has been discontinued. So, I set out to find some on eBay. Where I proceeded to place bids on four pairs of jeans. Four pairs of jeans that I may or may not like. Owned and worn by other individuals.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Until recently, I had never considered turning to eBay for clothes. But a few weeks ago, M2's girlie said she bought her jeans on eBay. So I figured, why not.

Last night, I was telling LISBF about my jean spending...

LCN: Today, while I was peeing, I noticed my jeans were wearing thin.

LISBF: Wearing thin? Where? In the peeing place?

LCN: Yeah. So, I bought a bunch of pairs on eBay.

LISBF: Um, okay ... but if you start buying underwear on eBay, we're going to have a problem.

It's all in the chest

2005-05-04T11:01:00.000-05:00

This morning I was pulled over by a county sheriff because I rolled through stop signs at two separate intersections. They are probably 3-4 miles apart. He was trailing me the whole time and I never noticed his unmarked car.

I was already a little late to work, so this made me even later. Although it also provided a plausible excuse. So once I was enroute again, I placed a call to the boss.

When we convened for the company meeting this morning. The president opened things up with "So, LCN, heard you had a little trouble coming into work this morning."

Apparently everyone already knew I'd been pulled over. What they didn't know was that I got off with a warning. And this is the sixth time in a row I've escaped without a ticket.

T-pot, a petite sales rep, wanted to know what I do to get out of tickets.

"Easy," I said. "It's all in the chest."

Hey, you! Dismount!

2005-05-03T08:47:00.000-05:00

I had just pulled out of my driveway this morning, when I noticed two cats humping on top of a car parked across the street from my house.

Now I am a responsible pet owner. I have taken Bob Barker's advice to heart. And it dismays me when I see folks who let their cats run around outside when they still have their bits.

So I rolled down the window and started honking my horn.

"Hey!" BEEP! BEEP! "Cut that out!" BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! "We don't need any more cats!" BEEP! BEEP! ... BEEP!

Boy cat jumped off and they both kind of cowered on the top of the car, looking sheepish.

Hey, I do what I can.

Let me tell you about the time ...

2005-05-02T08:00:00.000-05:00

The Ms and I were running around town Saturday afternoon when they wanted to stop at video store so M1 could buy a previously viewed copy of Sideways. I told them that I would run next door to the gourmet kitchen store and look for one of those gadgets that slips around a pop tab to make it easier to open.

SIDE NOTE: We had been in Bed Bath and Beyond earlier and I had looked for the pop tab gadget without success. While in line, M1 asked why I didn't just use my thumb. He even mimed a DEMONSTRATION of how HE would slip his thumb under the tab and pry it up. I gave him my best do-I-look-stupid-to-you? look and said ... I DO open them with my hands. I'm shopping for my disabled friend. OUCH! So then he felt like shit. HA HA!

So ... I walk into this gourmet kitchen store that is run by a Middle Eastern man and his American wife, who wears traditional Middle-Eastern women's attire. The robe looking thing and head cover. On weekends, wifey is usually working alone. When I opened the door, a chime sounded, yet no one came around to ask if I needed help finding anything.

I found the gadget wall and located my pop tab opener. $1.89. What a deal. So I'm clutching it as I walk toward the open door to the office area in back.

Hello? ... HELLO?

Just as I'm about to stick my head around the corner in the office ... it hits me. The owner is dead in the back room. The killer could still be inside the store. And I need to get the HELL out of there.

This is how my mind works.

I enter freakout mode as I make a beeline for the front door. All the while I'm afraid I'll be shot in the back ... seriously. I was panicked. I carelessly tossed the $1.89 pop tab gadget at the counter as I left. I just HAD to go next door, get the Ms and have them come check out the back room for me.

You know, cause they're boys and gunfire wouldn't hurt them.

As I fly through the door outside, a voice behind me on the sidewalk asks, cheerfully, "Can I help you find something?"

I turned around to see Mrs. Middle-Eastern store owner. Smiling the big, broad smile she has every time I go in that store.

"I ... um ... I thought you were dead."

Turns out she had just gone next door to the cafe for a coffee.

Now that I think about it, that seems like a totally reasonable explanation.

From La Chat Noir's Inbox

2005-04-29T08:22:00.000-05:00

Hey, Ali, file this under "things that make me go EW!"

-----Original Message-----
From: Assistant Sales Director (who is also our custodian)
Sent: Thursday, April 28, 2005 11:01 AM
To: Everyone in the office with ovaries
Cc: Nice, if a little dumb, HR guy
Subject: Women's bathroom

I don't know who had the issue in the back women's bathroom today and I don't care to know, but this has happened more than once and needs to stop.

Whoever used the women's bathroom in the back and clogged the toilet should have enough courtesy to unclog it with a plunger so the next innocent victim walking in isn't forced to deal with it. If whoever did this had enough time to go, flush, wash and dry their hands, they surely left the bathroom knowing the toilet was clogged.

All I ask is that you take the additional 10 seconds it took myself and [chicky sales rep] to unclog it. Have some respect for others in this office who use the same restroom you used.

Assistant Sales Director

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Um, EW! And might I add ... NOT ME!

I rarely have need to use the facilities in back ... cause I have my VERY OWN bathroom right next door to my office. Complete with barefoot summer help.

Scrabble is for smarties

2005-04-28T08:07:00.000-05:00

I love playing board games. It's one of my favorite things to do with family and friends. I'll play just about anything ... except Scrabble.

I've been banned from Scrabble.

Part of the problem is, I only like to play at games where I have a chance of winning. And for me, there is no hope in Scrabble.

I have no patience to wait for another player to mull over tiles. My vocabulary mirrors that of a foreign-speaker who has mastered a fourth grade comprehension of English. Did I mention that the ENTIRE game is spent WAITING FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO PLAY THEIR DAMN TILES.

But Scrabble players are the worst. They get so damn cocky. They take F-O-R-E-V-E-R to put down tiles. Then, when they've come up with something TRULY brilliant, they sit back and grin at their smarty-pants play.

Bitches.

I used to beg LISBF to play with me. I used to promise that I would be good. It never worked out. I always end up getting too frustrated. So I've been banned.

Last night, when LISBF and his son, BoyOne sat down for a game ... they even had to take the dictionary away from me. I got frustrated with the stupid game and I wasn't even playing it.

LISBF tried to calm me down. Saying that maybe tomorrow night, we could play another game. Something more my speed ... maybe Hungry, Hungry Hippos, he said.

That'd be sweet.

Seen, yesterday at quitting time

2005-04-27T09:27:00.000-05:00

Assistant Sales Director (whom we V. much like) vacuuming up "30" confetti that was strewn all over the hallway by sales reps ... in honor of his 30th birthday.

I really needed to hear that

2005-04-25T16:59:00.000-05:00

M2 to LCN, yesterday: "You know that the two of us will still be friends long after girlie has forgotten about me ... right?"

Bringing home the bacon

2005-04-25T09:57:00.000-05:00

Saturday night, Lil' Sis and I found ourselves in the basement of an American Legion in Hicksville. It was NASCAR night.

We arrived too late to draw drivers, but enjoyed the race ambiance nonetheless. The gathering was an invite-only afterparty that followed a day's worth of family celebratory events.

It was dingy, smoky and seedy. They had free food (hamburgers, hotdogs, cheesy potato something) and cheap drinks. Although it was a V. complicated ordering system. First you have to buy tickets, THEN you take your tickets to the bar for your drinks. And if you want anything girly or fruity ... forget it! Lil' Sis and I were told to go to a "real" bar.

I was further intrigued by the member's only room, which we had walked through to get to the NASCAR den ... and caught many a scowl along the way.

But nothing beat the meat.

They ran raffles of meat ALL NIGHT LONG.

NY strips, butterfly pork chops, big, thick rolls of sausage ... and BACON.

Have I mentioned how much I love BACON?

We're talking a big ol' slab of porky goodness here, people.

And I wanted it.

You could buy a "pull" for a dollar to get your chance to win one of the various meat products. The slender, skanky legionette would walk around, showing off the meat, selling pulls.

Basically, one dollar gets you a pull of five tabs. There's a tip number that you must look for on each of the tabs. Then, after all the pulls have been sold, skanky legionette pulls her tab to reveal the pull number. If you have any tabs with the tip number AND the pull number ... YOU'VE JUST WON MEAT!

Now imagine trying to figure out all that while you're drunkard. Not easy.

The first time skanky legionette brought out the bacon, it went to the brother of the man my aunt left my uncle for (I TOLD YOU it was Hicksville!) so I was determined that if another slab of bacon came up ... it was going home with me.

I had lots of family support. Assorted aunts, uncles, cousins and town drunks (some of whom are one and the same) put down money for pulls. Our table practically bought out the entire card.

My uncle won. He immediately handed over my bacon.

It smells SO GOOD. Problem is, I don't want to eat it. The novelty of an edible trophy is still fresh. I mean, who would think that a gal like me could descend into the secret subversive society and emerge 10 pounds of bacon richer.

God bless the American Legion.

Ugh with the grossness

2005-04-21T08:42:00.000-05:00

The same summer help chick who walked BAREFOOT IN THE RESTROOM earlier this week, just came into the kitchen and started clipping her nails over the trash can.

GROSS!

La Erotique

2005-04-20T14:21:00.000-05:00

When LISBF and I were in Paris, we spent the better half of an afternoon pawing through folders and drawers at a lithograph shop on Rue LaFayette. I was hoping to find some sort of old advertisement or poster in the vein of Toulouse Lautrec ... but alas, I did not.

After searching through folders labeled posters, theater, mythology and several others ... I decided take a gander at "erotique."

And I came across one I wanted to buy. It was one of the tamer things in the folder. Mostly foliage in blues and greens. And in the center, you can make out a couple, drawn in cartoonish fashion. She lays on her back, her large, white legs squeezing his skinny black ones on both sides. As if she has engulfed him.

When I saw it, I thought it would be perfect for my bathroom.

This weekend, I found the perfect frame and hung it up.

It's perfect.

The other day, M2 and I were talking about the impending dinner gathering at my house for his relatives when they come to visit. It's V. exciting for M1 and me, because we weren't sure if M2 would EVER feel comfortable introducing us to his parents.

M1 and I are trying to plan a menu, which is hard because M2 is EXTREMELY picky and apparently no one in his family eats ANYTHING besides meats and grains (how do those people digest?).

M2 has said that he doesn't want me to change the house for them. I don't have to put away my stack of GQs (scandalous!) or hide the liquor (for shame!) but he would prefer it if I took down my erotique.

I told him I'd be happy to take it down for his folks (though it's staying up for mine!).

In it's place, I'll stick a Post-It ... "This space censored by M2."

Should make for interesting dinner conversation...

Message I left on M1's voicemail last night

2005-04-19T14:10:00.000-05:00

Hey. It's me. Didn't get any e-mails from you all day. You must have been busy. Listen, I really wanted to tell you how the meeting went Sunday night, so give me a call, K? I'll just be home. Cleaning my toilet. So, if you get this before, say midnight ... call me. God, I hope it doesn't take me HOURS to clean the toilet ... Cause if I'm scrubbing it for THAT long ... well ... then I need to clean my toilet A LOT more often...

Only room enough for one of us in this here bathroom

2005-04-18T15:02:00.000-05:00

SO ... earlier today, I was in the bathroom next to my office. It has two stalls, but no one EVER goes in if the outer door is closed. It's used like a private bathroom. An unspoken rule. The silly summer help doesn't know these things.

So there I was, taking a pee in one of the stalls when I was SHOCKED to hear a girlie come in! And then, whilst washing my hands at the sink, I was EVEN MORE SHOCKED to see that she was barefoot. In the bathroom.

Does she not know we don't employ a cleaning lady?

Disgusting!

Hear ye, hear ye!

2005-04-18T09:58:00.000-05:00

My improv troupe is performing at a Shakespearean-themed downtown event this weekend. There are only four of us doing it, and the Ms are not involved. The plan is to tell the abridged story of Romeo and Juliet (instantly recognizable plot points) using games that we play in our shows as the vehicles to tell the tale.

After the second or third time through, we should have the schtick down. I have volunteered to be the MC/narrator. I like this for a couple of reasons. It gets me out of having to be a player, and it will allow the leader of our troupe to see me in the MC role. Because I would like to start MCing some of our shows, too.

But I still need to brush up on my Shakespeare.

I'm already armed with a Shakespearean insult kit ... Forsooth say I, you churlish milk-livered nut-hook!

A couple of prithees, fains and hithers ... throw in some "nots" after verbs ... use ye for plural you ... thou for singular your ... thy for plural your ... thine for plural your when the following word starts with a vowel ...

Easy, right?

If only he knew

2005-04-14T15:57:00.000-05:00

The Ms and I went out for a drink last night around 9pm. M1 was downing the vodka tonics. I had only one Amaretto Stone Sour (which M2 bought! Scandalous!) and M2 stuck with water.

We needed to catch up. I had a "talk" with a mutual friend (if you can call it that) of all of us, and they wanted the dirt. M1 was V. excited that he was flying to LA this morning for a whirlwind trip. He's a publicist and something he's been working on for a long time is going to be featured on a major national talk show. So even though he'll be behind the scenes, it's a great opportunity for him.

But I digress ... M1 said that he had something he wanted to tell me, but he was afraid I'd make fun of him.

He visits a number of internet message boards, many of them sports-related (he's a big fan of the chickball) and there's a guy in Arizona that he's been talking with. They've exchanged pictures and Mr. Arizona gave M1 his number, asked M1 to call him.

M1 and I tease M2 pretty mercilessly about all the internet-only friends he has (did I MENTION they're planning a camping trip in FLORIDA this summer?) and M1 was afraid I'd be just as hard on him.

If only he knew that I just received a box of cookies from Baltimore last week.

Win yourself a buick ... or two

2005-04-12T14:05:00.000-05:00

At Mon Apr 11, 05:06:44 PM, darth said...
very sweet...is there a contest to guess what those initials stand for?

At Tue Apr 12, 08:23:05 AM, La Chat Noir said...
Darth ... sure. Let's have a contest. Whoever correctly guesses what the two abbreviations stand for gets a million dollars ... and a buick.

At Tue Apr 12, 12:36:54 PM, darth said...
..and..if we guess only ONE of them...TWO buicks?

At Tue Apr 12, 02:06:32 AM, La Chat Noir said...
ABSOLUTELY! And maybe an air freshener in the shape of a foot.

All righty folks ... the abbreviations in question are SPB and FTDF. They're old pet names that LISBF and I had for each other.

Now taking guesses ...

Nothing like a Pop Tart buffet

2005-04-12T09:32:00.000-05:00

Monthly company meeting this a.m. and the marketing department was in charge of breakfast. Since we are one of the smallest departments, we only have breakfast duties about once a year.

Most departments do your run of the mill bagels, donuts, breakfast pizza, egg McMuffins ... we like to do something a little unexpected.

Last time, I had the FABULOUS idea of making waffles. We bought all sorts of assorted toppings and the boss and I manned nine waffle irons. It went pretty smoothly, after we finally figured out that the reason half of them wouldn't heat up was because we kept blowing out the fuse.

This time, we wanted to have one giant bowl of cereal. Like a huge punch bowl or something. We would carefully pour different kinds of cereal into areas of the bowl, so each type would be sectioned. Then, just dump in the milk.

Too funny.

But the president of the company didn't think people would find it funny. He thought they would be mad that they didn't get their free breakfast.

So we went with a Pop Tart buffet instead.

YUM!

Not so fast

2005-04-11T16:38:00.000-05:00

LISBF called me at work this afternoon ...

LCN: Did you think about me at 8:02 this morning?

LISBF: Hmmmm... ya know ... I think it didn't go off today.

LCN: WHAT!?!

LISBF: So, the answer is... nope.

Let's talk about something nice for a change

2005-04-11T14:48:00.000-05:00

When LISBF and I were walking yesterday, we started talking about his cheap watch.

He bought a cheap watch right before we went to Paris so that one of us would have one. I never wear a watch, and his semi-nice watch had just quit. He's already replaced the battery, so we're afraid there's something more wrong with it.

The semi-nice watch has sentimental value because I bought it for him and had our "initials" engraved ... SPB and FTDF. Which are less initials and more abbreviations for pet names.

Anyway ... when he bought the cheap watch, it was a huge ordeal. It's digital, and he doesn't like digital watches. He doesn't like pressing combinations of buttons to set the time. Starting a timer when he wants to set an alarm. Having buttons beep at you. So I was the one in charge of setting up the cheap watch that served as our alarm clock in Paris.

And while we were walking yesterday, LISBF turned to me and said, "Ya know, my watch still goes off at 8:02 every morning." (I NEVER set alarms for rounded, even times, always something like 8:02 or 6:37.)

LCN: Ya know, I could fix that for you. Turn it off.

LISBF: Nah.

LCN: Why not?

LISBF: I like that it goes off every morning.

LCN: Really?

LISBF: It reminds me of Paris. It reminds me of you.

Alphabet Update

2005-04-11T09:32:00.000-05:00

The Ms and I went out for dinner Friday night, as we often do. M2 was reserved, distant, hollow ... like a zombie. It was V. weird and uncomfortable. I decided to stop by M2's place after my crisis center shift (as I often do) so that we could talk. When I drove by at 1am, he was not at home.

I made LISBF big, fancy breakfast Saturday morning and he went off to work, I went off to pottery. I decided to stop by M2's place after my pottery (I drop by unannounced all of the time) so that we could talk. When I drove by at 2pm, he was not at home.

Three strikes in 48 hours. No more driving by M2's place.

Then, he called.

He came over. We talked. He knows how much he hurt my feelings (sooooo many things that I will not go into for you people ... suffice to say, do you remember junior high? It was a lot like that) and he apologized.

I told him that, not being a Baptist, I'm unclear of how this whole asking for forgiveness thing works. And that if he's waiting for me to say the words "I forgive you" ... well, I suggest we just move on.

(Later, I was telling LISBF about it. And he said you don't have to be a Baptist to forgive somebody. True. But I think that if you say "I forgive you," you should mean it.)

Afterward, I went over to V's house to see her. I brought work, she was sewing. And we just talked. It was really nice. Being there with her made me realize how many other friends I've been neglecting this past year. I've poured so much energy into building a friendship with M2, that I've not spent much time with some others. That's something I need to fix.

Saturday night I went with M1, M2 and B2 (aka the girlie, she had been added to the invite list and no-one wanted to tell me) to see a friend perform in a community theater production. It was weird, but not nearly as awkward as it would have been if M2 hadn't come over to my place to talk things out that afternoon.

Sunday, LISBF made me breakfast. We took a walk through the country down a path where railroad tracks used to run to this old railroad bridge that crosses the river. We took some time to look for mushrooms in the woods. It made me think that we were hicks. It made me realize we haven't done this kind of thing enough. It also made me think of how much I have been neglecting him, too. That's something I need to fix.

Sunday night, I went to dinner and yet ANOTHER show with B1 (who has always been my favorite of the Bs ... why is it that all of my friends have the same names???) and had a marvelous time. It was our first one-on-one hang out time. And now that we've had our first date, I can call her up any time to hang out.

A had called from Florida while we were at dinner. M2 had called while we were at the show.

I set out for my half-hour drive to LISBF's country house. I resisted dialing M2. That's what I usually do. I call him, and talks to me the entire drive (lame as it is, I am scared of the dark and therefore scared of driving through the middle of nowhere in the dark).

I called A instead. I was so bummed that he didn't answer. Partly because I wanted to talk to him, but mostly because it meant I had no good reason not to call M2.

I knew he would be with B2, and I didn't want to interrupt. I would not be able to tell if he were talking to me because he wanted to, or because he felt like he had to. I didn't want to hear him relaying our conversation to her in the background. I didn't want him to hear in my voice that I was calling because I felt I had to, not because I wanted to.

It's a funny thing about me ... I'm one of the best liars I know, but I'm one of the worst about hiding my emotions.

I called. We talked. It was fine. He tried to sound like he didn't want to get me off the phone. I tried to keep my answers succinct.

This is what I do. I pull away.

This has happened to me before.

Am I testing him?

Am I trying to hurt him?

Am I wondering how far he'll go to pull me back?

Am I willing to take that risk...

Karma is going to get you

2005-04-08T14:25:00.000-05:00

Just yesterday, I was cleaning out my inbox. I have tendency to let things pile up in there. Three messages up from the bottom was an e-mail from A. It was an impersonal, mass e-mail listing his new contact information in Florida.

A was a very dear friend of mine while I was in college. We worked together at the student newspaper. Somehow, when I think back on memories that include him ... at least one of us is drunk in nearly all of them.

We'd go out after work. We'd spend long nights playing poker. When all my other friends ditched me at a house party on my 21st birthday, he was the one who walked me around. I still grin when I recall the two of us going out back to take a leak together.

He would listen to my crazy stories. Let me bitch about such silly things. He could ease my paranoia. He was able to de-escalate the most out-of-control version of me. It just took a smile for me to know that everything was going to be all right.

He was smart, talented, funny, spontaneous, engaging. He was just so ... alive. I can't remember a moment when I was angry with A. He was just ALWAYS a good time. Always.

After graduation, I got a real job. He went to grad school. Both still here in town, we'd talk to each other occasionally, but we never really hung out after college. He was still a student. I was living in the real world.

Last summer, when A was applying for jobs, he asked me to be a reference. I had been his supervisor at the student newspaper. When the woman from the Florida college called to talk to me about A, she said to me "everybody has nothing but wonderful things to say about this guy."

Yeah. Me too. He's just a really great guy.

A got the job in Florida, moved down there with his girlfriend. I hope his life is marvelous, but I really haven't thought about him much.

Yesterday, while I was cleaning out my inbox, I hesitated when I came to the e-mail with his contact information, sent in September. I've barely spoken with him in the last four years when he lived here, I thought, I won't ever contact him now.

DELETE.

This morning, I opened my inbox and found the following e-mail.

-----Original Message-----
From: A
Sent: Friday, April 08, 2005 7:51 AM
To: LCN
Subject: howdy

LCN,

I got your Christmas card, but I didn't have your phone number. So, what's your number? How's work? How's life? How's the cat? What time do you get off work? Maybe we can chat during our drives home.

Me

-------------------------

How did he know?

I had written him off just yesterday, which I may have mentioned, was not the best of days. How did he know that I could really, really use a friend to brighten my spirits? How did he know how much I needed to hear from him TODAY.

I immediately sent him back a giant missive, catching him up on my life. All the little details of my last four years that he might have never known. I told him about the fact that I had chosen to delete him just yesterday ... and how grateful I am that he took the time to reach out. How much hearing from him cheered me up, just as he always did.

Of course, my commute home is only about eight minutes. And if our phone chats are anything like our e-mail communication, I'll be doing most of the talking.

Just like old times.

Dick and Cookies

2005-04-08T08:11:00.000-05:00

Last night M1 and I went to see The Full Monty. It was fabulous. We have never had such a good time at a show.

It was funny to see our mostly middle-aged lilly-white audience finally "get it." WE'RE at the strip club. WE are the audience.

SHEESH!

So there was whooping and hollaring, and even a little whistling. The show was raunchy, engergetic and exciting. It kinda made me want to go to a strip club.

At one point, two male character ALMOST kiss. You could hear audible disgust all around us. "Ugh ... Oh NO! .... Don't .... EWWWW .... gross" ... and finally, M1 just snarls "OH! Get over it!"

I love him.

And there were SIX naked guys on stage at the end! We had been told that you only have about a second before they blare the lights of the Full Monty sign and blind you. So the secret is to focus on one guy.

M1 claimed he saw some swinging action. I got nothing.

We even stood up for it, and we are both quite picky about our standing ovations. He took me out for a bite to eat after the show. He is always the most fabulous date. Always the most fabulous friend.

Afterward, I decided to stop by M2's place, since I feel like I haven't seen him in a while.

When I pounded on the door (a la police raid ... that's my style) I heard her inside giggling. I froze up. I wanted to run away and jump in my car and drive off. It was 11:30 at night. What was I thinking?

But I imagined M2 had already said "that's LCN." So I stood there, awkwardly, while he opened the door. I immediately noticed his broad smile ... her disheveled appearance ... the two pillows from his bed, propped up against one arm of the couch. I joined him in a wooden hug. I felt like a complete idiot.

Fortunately, the cookies from ACW had arrived at M2's in the mail that day. So I tried to cover and make it look like I had a purpose for being there. That I didn't just count on being able to drop by unannounced so late on a weeknight to hang out.

I exchanged my "hi's" and "bye's" quickly. Walking to my car, I thought about how grateful I was M1 had told me about them. It kept an embarrassing situation from being mortifying.

So I went home to my empty house and poured myself a tall glass of rum and started in on the cookies.

Dick and cookies, the highlights of what was otherwise a horrible, awful, no good, very bad day.

The sweetest thing

2005-04-07T07:47:00.000-05:00

When M1 and I first met M2, he was in a rough state. He had recently had his heart broken. He felt empty and lonely and worthless. He was consumed with guilt. He didn't have any friends.

We made him be our friend. I, more so than M1. In the last year, the three of us have been nearly inseparable. But M2 and I even closer.

All that is about to change.

It would seem that M2 has a bit of a crush on a girl. And she likes him, too. M1 was the one to break the news to me, because M2 was too afraid that I would be upset.

I think it is fabulous news. He has made other friends. He gets out of the house. He laughs. At this time last year, he had none of those things.

I am not saddened by the news that he and girlie may be spending more time together, but rather by the fact that he didn't want to tell me.

This signals the first in what will likely be many changes in our relationship.

Usually, it's not too big a deal for a gal who's in a relationship to have other male friends, but complications often ensue if a guy who's in a relationship spends too much one-on-one time with another girl. Let's face it, we women can be catty, jealous bitches.

I am faced with sadness that comes with the realization that even though we will still be friends, he doesn't need me anymore.

I will no longer be the first person he contacts when he has news. I can't depend on him always being available to answer the phone and talk to me while I make the 30 minute drive out to LISBF's house in the country. We may have shared our last late-night movie marathon. It's no longer a given that we'll be riding together to any event. I won't be his first call when he's standing in a store trying to decide which pants to buy.

I won't be his first hug when he needs one.

Last night, there was drama. Too much to go into here. But while I was on the phone dishing to 'Lil Sis about M2 having the sweeties on a girl (she was not happy with the news, SHE was planning on marrying him!) ... M2 called. And I didn't switch over.

I love call waiting. I ALWAYS switch over.

But I didn't.

Later, when I listened to his voicemail, I could hear the tears welling in his eyes as he told me that I was a good friend. That I've always had more faith in him than he has ever had in himself. That he knows he could never, ever forget me. That he thinks we'll always be friends.

His message ended with "in many ways, over the last year, you have saved my life."

How sweet is that.

Breaking the law

2005-04-04T15:50:00.000-05:00

I forgot to renew my car registration ... again. I won't confess how long overdue I am, suffice it to say, it is more than a month.

Every year, I just ... forget.

Usually, the nice city policemen give me a friendly reminder in the form of a ticket on my window.

But now that I live in a house, and am not parking on the street so much, I have evaded the watchful eye of the 5-0.

I need to lay low for another 10 days, cause, ya know ... I'm broke.

At least next year, I should receive a friendly reminder in the mail. Since I won't be moving for the first time in 8 years.

That is, if I remember to have my address information updated.

Sharing Secrets

2005-04-01T11:56:00.000-05:00

I heard the most fascinating story on NPR the other day.

It's about a guy who started an interactive art project where strangers create postcards about their secrets and send them in. He scans the postcards and posts them on his blog, www.postsecret.com.

The secrets range from sad to obscure. Frank Warren, the guy who came up with the idea, has a few rules.

One secret per postcard
Share your secret anonymously
It should be something you've never shared with anyone
Be brief the fewer words used the better
Be legible use big, clear and bold lettering
Be creative let the postcard be your canvas

I found this project most interesting, especially in the wake of ACW's decision to come out. Of all the bloggers I visit, most are open and "out." I know where they live, what kind of job they have, names of important people in their life, sometimes I even know what they look like.

But I reveal little about myself. Only one person in my "real" life knows about my blog. I have never disclosed where I live, what I do ... I don't use actual names in any of my posts (save for Amber and Candybar).

Why is that? I'm not very good at keeping secrets. I think nothing of divulging personal, potentially embarrassing information about myself (or others) to casual acquaintances. Yet, here in Blogsylvania ... I'm pretty tight-lipped with the details.

But you keep on reading...

So, not that I'll answer ... but is there anything you want to know?

That's kinda funny

2005-03-31T08:27:00.000-05:00

A gal at work was trying to get on to the Dick's Sporting Goods website, so she went to dicks.com.

They're in a whole other "goods" market.

So she was embarrassed and told a few friends in the cubicle farm what had happened. They laughed with her. Then they sent a message to the IT guy, telling him about it and how he should bust her.

So IT guy sends dickgirl an e-mail saying that the system just notified him that someone was accessing porn via a company computer and it was traced back to her PC. She would need to explain herself so that he could include that information in a report to be filed with the company president.

So of course, she's freaking out, and everyone else is laughing about it.

Heh heh heh.

You're making me cry

2005-03-29T08:12:00.000-05:00

I have a friend that I met volunteering with the Compeer program. They set you up with a socially isolated adult and the two of you meet once a week to talk, shop, play games, etc.

I've been meeting with my friend for three years now, and every Monday night, I know it is the highlight of her week. In addition to having depression, my friend is also physically challenged with cerebral palsy.

She can crawl around on her knees, but she cannot stand upright. Her fingers and toes are gnarled and curled, making it difficult for her to grasp things, open bottles, type on the computer. When she coughs, her entire body shakes. She has to focus on her annunciation to overcome the muscles that involuntarily thrust and contract, impeding her speech.

Yet she lives alone. She prepares her own meals. She wields power tools (she often cuts the legs off of chairs to turn them into stools). Uses a local transportation service to get to her doctor appointments. Orders food delivered, as well as laundry service. She even takes long-distance learning classes online at the local community college. And most of the time, I don't see her as disabled. Even though I know that she rarely leaves her house, save for Monday nights.

She was excited to hear about my trip to Paris. I asked if she received my postcard. She had. It was propped up on top of a stack of postcards. All postcards I've sent.

"I've sent you a lot of postcards, haven't I?"

She smiled and nodded. "One day, I'll go somewhere ... and you'll receive a card from me," she said.

At 56 years old, she's outlived her parents and three older brothers. She does have a sister who lives out of state.

Last night, were on the topic of death and dying. She told me once more how she'd like to be cremated, her ashes spread across her parents' graves. This much I knew.

"Hopefully on a windy day," she added.

"That way some of you can rest peacefully on your graveyard neighbors?"

"No," she said gently. "That way I can enjoy freedom in death that I never had in life."

Calling it quits

2005-03-28T08:31:00.000-05:00

So I phoned home to wish the fam a Happy Easter, and while talking to my father I asked, "Is it just the four of you?"

"Nope," he said. "Just the three of us."

Hmmmm.... "Where's Amber? Is she working?"

"Maybe Baby Brother should tell you that story."

So Baby Brother gets on the phone and confirms that he and Amber (you might remember her as the "not good enough for my brother" gal who proposed to him on the most romantic of days ... MLK Day?) have broken up.

I thought it was FABULOUS news. She was fine as a girlfriend, but fiance scared me, and wife scared me even more. Apparently, she has decided she doesn't want to have kids. Which doesn't make sense to me, cause I heard the phrase "when we have babies" coming out of her mouth about a MILLION times over my Christmas visit.

Sounds fishy to me. Perhaps she just realized it was all too fast too soon ... and a really bad idea. I'm just glad SOMEONE realized SOMETHING sooner rather than later.

I guess I could have been better in hiding my glee. Break-ups are always hard, and I should have been more empathetic to the fact that Baby Bro would not share my jubilation.

But you'll share in the joy, right?

w00t!

La Chat Noir, Parisian

2005-03-25T10:18:00.000-05:00

Five Best Things About Paris

1. Pain au Chocolat for breakfast every morning. I love having 5 or 6 patisseries within walking distance of any locale in the city. Nothing beats a warm, flaky, fresh-out-of-the-oven pain au chocolat ... any time of day.

2. Three course dinners. The only way to dine is using le formula, a fixed price menu with your choice of entree (starter), plat (dinner) and dessert (yum in any language). My favorite entree was the tried and true Salade au Chevre Chaud, fabulous greens in a house vinaigrette (as EVERY salad in Paris is, they don't offer choice of salad dressing) and topped with warm goat cheese. My favorite plat was actually a gallette (what crepes are called when they don't have desserty sweet fillings) that LISBF ordered at a cute little Mediterranean cafe on Ile St. Louis. It was filled with blue cheese and walnuts. My favorite dessert was Moellieux, sometimes called chocolate pots here in the states. It's a cake/brownie type thing filled with warm, hot, dark chocolate in the center. Often it's served sitting in a puddle of fresh creme anglais, or vanilla creme. Bon appetit.

3. Le Metero. EVERYTHING in Paris is within two blocks of a metro stop. It's fast, reliable and easy to figure out. One of the original mass transit systems makes it easy to explore every area of the city.

4. The Cemeteries. I'm a fan of cemeteries and the ones in Paris are fabulous. Picpus Cemetery was my favorite spot we saw in Paris. It's V. small, and you have to hunt to find it. The site of the mass graves of Revolution-era guillotine victims are here, along with a small area for family plots of victims' relatives. The Marquis de La Fayette is also buried here, with a U.S. flag flying over his grave. Picpus' stone walls give it a wonderful secluded and quiet ambiance. Its parklike entrance, beautiful, undisturbed grave monuments and tragic, moving history make it a peaceful, meditative retreat in the center of the 12th district.

5. The view atop Sacre Coeur. We climbed 296 steps up the tower of the inner dome on our first day there. Sitting atop the hill of Montmartre, we had a breathtaking view of the entire city. Few other people were at the top with us. Well worth the climb (and the 5 euros) it offered a gorgeous panoramic view, a rush of exhilaration to explore the narrow streets of the vast city that sprawled before me and a feeling of quiet contentment that few experiences in my life will be as moving, as reflective, as wondrous as this.

Five Worst Things About Paris

1. The filth. Paris is dirty. Not just big city dirty, but filthy dirty. It is most evident in the rampant dog poop covering the sidewalks. It seems like every Parisian owns a pup. In fact, the city has employees zip around on motorscooters to vacuum up le merde from les sidewalks.

2. Paying $4.50 (US Dollars) for a warm bottle of Coke. When you eat out at a bistro, restaurant or cafe in Paris, you are paying for the pleasure of sitting at the table. All food prices are inflated to reflect "table rent." Parisian restaurant owners don't expect to turn over tables, they only expect one group of people per table each night. Because that's what people do in Paris. They go out to sit at a restaurant table ALL NIGHT LONG. How does anyone get anything done? Food prices in Paris also are inflated due to "servis compris" which means the "tip" is included.

3. The rough facial and toilet tissue. A few days using the rough, scratchy tissue products in Paris had me wishing for the soft comfort of the industrial one-ply found in U.S. airports and elementary schools. It is that bad.

4. The hassle over making change. Cashiers at the local Monoprix Supermarche cannot be bothered making change. If you try to hand them a 10 euro note for your $3.75 total, they shake their heads, cluck their tongues and reach over to your outstretched palm to count out the exact change themselves. We ran into this more than one occasion, Paris cashiers don't like to break bills.

5. The smoking. EVERYONE over the age of 11 smokes in Paris. It is most bothersome during the aforementioned cafe experience. People sit at tables and smoke ALL NIGHT LONG. Tiny rooms, tinier tables and s-l-o-w service. It really puts a damper on your $40 dinner when all you can taste is the Clove cigarette burning right next to you. Ugh.

Easter Egg Hunt

2005-03-24T08:23:00.000-05:00

Further proof that I don't work in your ordinary office ...

We reached a company goal earlier this week. And to celebrate ... there was an Easter egg hunt this morning. Everyone had three eggs to find with their name on it. There was one Golden Egg that Kooky found.

Inside? Candy, Sacajawea dollars and lottery tickets.

What a welcome back.

Nearing the end of lock-up, er, Lent

2005-03-22T11:04:00.000-05:00

Easter has always been one of my favorite holidays. I enjoy the traditions associated with Easter, like decorating eggs, egg hunts, hiding baskets ... and not to mention HAM! I LOVE HAM!

But as a child, Lent was always such a downer.

Our household had no real religious identity growing up. My mother was raised in a conservative Protestant sect called United Missionary. She still considers herself a Christian and the two of us conflict on most of your major social issues.

I have no idea what my father believes. I would guess that he doesn't consider himself to be particularly religious. He was raised Catholic, and therefore we were "raised" Catholic ... but I think it was largely due to the tradition of things, and my father wanting to please his V. Catholic parents.

So it was my father who was Catholic and my mother who would drag us to mass, as well as enforce all the other Catholic traditions, like Lent.

My mother never let us choose what it was we wanted to give up for Lent. Probably because we would have tried to give up going to school, or eating green beans.

The things she chose for us weren't merely ideals or changes in behavior, they were tangible things ... things that were important to us as children ... things that would be missed.

She would place these things behind lock and key in her china hutch, where we could see them peering out at us for 40 long days. A gentle reminder of our sacrifice, and the sacrifice of Our Lord, Jesus.

One year, Lent was especially tough. I tried to pray. I tried to believe. But I couldn't for the life of me figure out what Jesus wanted with my stuffed Pound Puppy, Candybar.

Sometimes, my mom would catch me sitting in front of the china cabinet, whispering. She probably hoped I was praying. But really, Candybar and I were hatching a plan to break him out of there.

The first week was the toughest. By the third week, sleep came a little more easily. And by the time Easter came around, the separation was near complete. My arm no longer tried to curl itself around the empty space where Candybar used to lay. My bed no longer looked empty in the morning, without him perched atop the pillow.

I still have Candybar. These days, he can most often be found on the cedar chest at the foot of my bed.

I can't imagine ever getting rid of him. Like so many other things in life. It's nice to know I carry him with me, even if I no longer need him to get to sleep at night.

Have you SEEN I, Robot?

2005-03-21T08:15:00.000-05:00

Honda is taking ASIMO on tour. That's ASIMO as in Advanced Step in Innovated Mobility. The world's most advanced humanoid robot.

It walks, talks, waves, grasps objects and climbs stairs. Even more impressive, it uses two cameras to create depth perception and scans your body topography and face proportions and dimensions so that if it runs into you later ... ASIMO recognizes you and calls you by name.

The technology was developed with the idea of aiding the elderly or disabled. At 4' tall, ASIMO stands eye to eye with a person on a bed or sitting in a wheelchair. He can even "go online" to relay the latest forecast in his spooky childlike voice.

The next step is developing artificial intelligence. Scientists predict that by the year 2040, ASIMO will be commonplace ... one in each home.

Seeing as how I still don't have a working home computer ... perhaps I'll also allow this little bit of techno gadgetry to pass me by...

Wait ... what? It changes litter boxes??

On second thought ...

Let the madness begin

2005-03-18T08:19:00.000-05:00

When you live in the basketball-crazed Midwest ... there's no time like tourney time. I don't watch a single game of b-ball all year, but when it comes to the NCAA brackets, I pay attention to every game.

Hey, there's $250 at stake.

The first year I played in an office pool, I won 2nd place, which got me $75.

The second year, I took it all ... $180.

Last year I didn't fare so well.

This year I also participated in the draw. I drew (7) W. Virginia, (10) Creighton and (15) Chattanooga. GO MOCS! What the hell is a Moc anyway?

For the brackets ... I'm picking my Midwestern brethren, the Illini, to take it all ... I hope they don't let me down.

Isn't this supposed to feel good?

2005-03-17T08:21:00.000-05:00

Last fall, I won a massage gift certificate in a drawing at a benefit concert ... which I promptly lost shortly thereafter.

The gift certificate resurfaced earlier this month, and although it expired Jan. 1, I called the guy and he said he would still honor it.

I arrived for my appointment Saturday morning shortly before the massage therapist. He quickly bounded up the stairs to unlock the door for me and asked me to have a seat in an overstuffed pleather chair.

"Excuse the mess, we're in the process of redecorating," he said.

Yeah, I'll say. Old, brittle wallpaper peeling off the walls. Stains all over the carpet. Furniture was scarce, save for the overstuffed pleather chair and two large plants whose dead leaves were scattered around the floor beneath them.

The guy was very nice. After going over my options, we decided on a full-body Swedish. It's supposed to help get the fluids flowing and allow the body to rid itself of toxins. He explained all the areas of the body that he would be working on, and clearly stated that no breast tissue would be touched or exposed at any time.

Thank God for that.

He lead me through an office (it comforted me slightly to see a few certificates with his name on them hanging on the wall) to the massage room in the back. At least it looked respectable. Walls were painted (albeit sloppily) a warm purple, candles were lit, Indian flute music was playing, flannel sheets draped the massage table ... it was enough to convince me that he hadn't just set up shop the previous week.

As he was leaving the room to allow me privacy while I disrobed, he noticed my alarm when I spied a peephole in the door.

"That looks out, into the office," he said. "So that I can tell if I have another client coming in."

Nevertheless, I undressed out of view of the peephole.

Once the massage got under way, I couldn't wait for it to be over. It was uncomfortable for the most part, and down right painful in some instances. He was V. receptive of my wincing and would ask, "Tender?"

Um. Yeah. I guess...

He did my arms, stomach, chest (not breasts!), legs, back, neck. And finally he was through.

But he wasn't. All I could hear was a snapping noise, then I felt fingers bearing down on what I can only assume were pressure points on my body.

*SNAP* dig into shoulder ... *SNAP* dig into hip ... and so on

Then, he laid one hand at the top of my spine, and the other at the bottom. And he stood there. Mumbling something. With his hands on my spine. For an unGODly amount of time.

Um, dude? Dude? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

He released his hands, put his palms together in a prayerlike state, said a few more things, then held up the top sheet for me to turn over.

He advised me to take all the time I needed. Relax. No rush. And when I'm ready, put on my clothes and gather my things.

I couldn't scramble out of there fast enough.

I will say he did his job getting the fluids to flow ... I had to pee really bad.

Bonjour from Paris!

2005-03-16T12:36:00.000-05:00

Arrived safe and sound early this morning, and after a quick one-hour nap, we were out walking our neighborhood, Montmartre. The apartment is just down the street and around the corner from the Moulin Rouge. So many beautiful streets to explore!

The only touristy thing so far was seeing the Sacre Coeur. Gorgeous. The entire inside is detailed in mosaic murals. Also climbed 292 steps in a stone spiral staircase to the inner dome where we had a breathtaking panoramic view of the entire city.

I've even had to rely on my pathetic attempts at French a few times! The sidewalk cafe where we ate lunch did not have menus available in English ... so we stuck with what I know.

Got 40 euros from an ATM easily but was shocked to see a withdrawal from my checking account listed as $53.75 ... oh, yeah .... STUPID exchange rate! Better keep that in mind the rest of the week!

Hope to be in bed by 10ish and then wake bright and early for a full day tomorrow.

BISOUS!

LCN

Cash flow low...

2005-03-16T08:04:00.000-05:00

I've written before about how dour my financial situation (or I should say, my bookkeeping skills) can be. But this past weekend, things hit a new low.

My car's empty light came on Wednesday ... so by Saturday night, I feared my luck was running out.

After subtracting the check I wrote for my new haircut ($18) and the charges from going to Pizza Slut buffet with the Ms for lunch ($8) I calculated that I would be safe spending only $3 on my debit card before I hit the land of negative balances.

So, I pulled up to a gas pump where unleaded hovers around $2.10 a gallon .... and I filled up $3 worth of gas.

I then combed through my purse, my car's change drawer .... even under the seats. And I came up with another 80 cents.

I strolled right in to the gas station and asked the attendant to put 80 cents on pump number six.

She said nothing and just rang me up as if it weren't the stupidest thing in all the world.

Where the hell have I been?

2005-03-15T08:30:00.000-05:00

It appears that my small group of loyal readers has mostly disbanded ... *le sigh*

I have no one but myself to blame, for I have been quite lax in the blogging lately. And ya gotta give the people what they want so that they will keep coming back.

Work has picked up, so that contributes to less "free" time for blogging. Also, I decided to apply for a second job. It's an executive director of a coalition against sexual assault.

Only an additional 10 hours a week, and the work is basically just an extention of the volunteer work I already do.

There is a small part of me that wonders if this kind of work in the non-profit sector might be in my future. And I thought applying for this job would be a good way to get my feet wet.

But there are two monthly meetings that occur during work hours, and I needed to have those times away approved by my boss and the company prez before applying.

One condition that my boss mandated was that I was NOT to do outside work for the coaltion while here.

Um, you mean, not any more than I do already??? (Like the T-shirt design I submitted for the rape survivor advocacy program, pictured.)

So a feeling of being "watched" a little more closely has also contributed to the decrease in blogging.

NEVER FEAR!!! Even though I am leaving for Paris this afternoon... I have pre-written posts for your enjoyment! And I am trusting M2 to sign on and post them for me.

So you can still get your dose of LCN while I'm away.

Fabulous.

Strange things keep happening...

2005-03-14T09:29:00.000-05:00

I collect fairies.

I know what you're thinking, I don't seem like the enchanted earthworks type ... but for a while there, I collected Dezine fairies.

I have them all in a glass cabinet that stands about three feet high. I probably have about 25 or so different fairies. I haven't added to my collection in a few years.

I never take them out or anything. They just sit in the cabinet, undisturbed.

Well, all except one ...

The first time I noticed something wrong, it was a rainy winter evening. Lil' Sis was on her way to visit me. At the time, she was in grad school about three hours away.

The thunder and lighting was intense, the rain was thick and the wind was fierce. I was walking from my bedroom to the kitchen, and when I passed the fairy cabinet, I noticed that Fragrant Fairy had moved.

There she was, front and center on the top shelf with wings spread to the front of the cabinet, a full 180 degree turn from her usual state.

I panicked. I knew it meant my sister was dead.

Lil' Sis loves to turn my place upside down. For days after she's gone, I'll find photo frames resting on their faces, my small, metal camels on their backs with feet in the air, stuffed animals perched in peculiar places ...

I KNEW that Lil' Sis had moved the Fragrant Fairy. It was her way of telling me goodbye.

My fear was further intensified by the fact that I tried calling her cell phone several times and did not get an answer. When she arrived at my apartment about an hour later, I told her about the Fragrant Fairy. She laughed and told me I was being crazy.

I tried to forget about it.

But Fragrant Fairy would not leave me alone! I found her turned around twice more while I lived in that apartment. (My mom blamed the maintenance man.) And three times at the next place. (My friends blamed my boyfriend.) When I moved into my last apartment ... it didn't happen again.

My mind was eased and I had forgotten all about Fragrant Fairy ... until yesterday.

While walking through the dining room last night, I saw that Fragrant Fairy was up to her old tricks. There she was, wings defiantly spread to the front of the cabinet.

I know there must be a reasonable explanation.

But I have other fairies with small, circular bases, ones that might act like a pivot point. Fragrant Fairy is kneeling, so her base is long and rectangular.

Perhaps there is some sort of imperfection on her base that causes her to swivel when foot traffic vibrates the floor below the cabinet. But why is she the ONLY one who ever moves.

And why is it that I have NEVER seen her only partially turned? Perhaps kneeling with her side to the front of the cabinet?

Different shelves, different locations, different floors, different homes ... AND YET SHE MOVES.

I know of too many personal accounts with eerie, unexplained occurrences to discount a supernatural explanation.

But I hesitate to hold a spirit responsible ... because that would mean it's been following me around.

And I'm not sure I'm down with that.

Showing off for Darth

2005-03-11T08:37:00.000-05:00

LISBF's brother (who we'll be staying with in Paris) took this picture in the Montmartre neighborhood last week (near where we'll be staying!).

Wouldn't you know it if LISBF and I thought the picture might look better sans pedestrians in the foreground ... I've never really done much people elimination touch up work. So I tried a few different methods.... The evidence of which you can see when you look at the motorcycle's front tire and the slight glow around the base of the lampost.... but not bad for a first effort.... eh?

Frog ... it's what's for dinner

2005-03-10T16:55:00.000-05:00

So yesterday I e-mailed LISBF to ask what he'd like for dinner. I was in charge, cause we were staying at my place. And that's the rule.

His reply:

-----Original Message-----
From: LISBF
Sent: Wednesday, March 09, 2005 4:14 PM
To: LCN
Subject: RE: HEY!

You should prepare a feast for me fit for a prince!

(or we can go somewhere cheap.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So he bought us dinner at an awesome smokehouse place in my neighborhood.

Ain't love grand?

Risen from the dead?

2005-03-09T08:42:00.000-05:00

So Sunday, a certain person who writes a certain blog that I and certain others visit frequently ... well, he declared himself "done with blogging."

Now he's been FLOODED with comments, mostly of the "please don't stop!" variety. I, for one, didn't pile on any of that kind of crap. His big fat head is big and fat enough as it is already, people.

My reaction was selfish. MooCow's done blogging? Damn. There goes half my readership.

So what is a snarky little (okay, medium!) black cat such as myself to make of the fact that Moo left a comment on my pee post?

Perhaps I don't need to add "RIP" to my ass tatt just yet ...

Vapors rising

2005-03-07T08:02:00.000-05:00

The Ms and I had a night on the town Friday. We went to see a show and then ate at a fancy pizza place (you know, one of those places where all the toppings are weird and you can't just order pepperoni).

Anyway, I got up from the table to use the restroom. When I went in, there was a chickypoo standing at the sink doing her make-up. Did I mention that the frou-frou pizza joint is a mecca for beautiful people?

So there is one tiny stall in the tiny bathroom, but it's right next to the sink. So it was with a bit of hesitation that I proceeded to go into the stall and take a piss.

I heard that bathroom door creak, and was glad to know chickypoo had left the room. Then, I looked down and noticed some vapors rising up in between my legs. Kind of like when something hot meets something very cold.

"Whoa! Is that my PEE!"

Stop stream. Check for vapors. Start stream again.

"My pee is so warm it's making VAPORS! Too weird."

Stop stream. Single blast. Single blast. Warm pee theory confirmed. Finish my business.

I open the stall door to chickypoo on the other side.

Mortified, I mutter "I, um, need to wash my hands."

She smirks and leaves.

When I get back to the table, I tell the Ms all about it. Of course, they find it hilarious.

On the way back home, M1 stops to gas up the car. I use the restroom because I have to pee again ALREADY!

In the parking lot, M1 shouts at me ...

"Any vapors this time? .... 'cause if so, you might want to get that checked."

What does it all mean?

2005-03-03T14:13:00.000-05:00

So I told you I have wacky dreams ... well here is last night's. Interpretations are welcome!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SO ... it started off in a courtroom, where this guy was being tried. He was found guilty and sentenced to death. All his family and friends were ecstatic cause he'd committed the crime in Jesus' name (amen!) so they were glad he would die cause he would be going to heaven.

While they were whooping and hollering, they were waving their arms in the air, a la dream girls, while chanting something. It was like Mukata or Mukara or something, it had the same sound as Stigmata, but it started with an "M."

SO ... some of them started to be lifted up in the air ... all the way to the ceiling (it was REALLY high with four windows in it) and then that got all the praying people even more excited. They were shouting that they were being lifted up to the Lord.

So then, I went to the church to interview the people about this lifting thing. And I was in a HUGE hall with blue and red carpet. With lots and lots of windows all down the wall, but not churchy type windows, more like gothic windows without the stained glass.

So we're videotaping this little girl on a chair in this huge hall, and then, the camera pans around to take in the entire hall, and I was like "okay, that's all we need."

And then the creepy little pale headed dark haired girl was like "Do you want to see us do it?" All husky and whispery like Dakota Fanning or something. But she said that the camera crew had to leave. Then these other kids come out of the shadows. And they're all over in the corner chanting and waving their arms. But they're not as good as their parents, so sometimes they have to get a running start, and they don't get lifted nearly as high.

Then, we were putting up huge, long curtain rods and big blue drapes to cover all the lower windows along the wall, which made it pitch black. And we were loading in a rig from a stage show or something, and suddenly there were all these roadies everywhere helping us put truss together and run cable and whatever. There was a weird truss that was in the shape of a half circle and it snapped into one end, and had to be bent over to snap in at the other end. With all these lights hanging off of it. And people were all gathered around it, along the curve of the truss.

I was working with this guy, Eric, who wasn't anybody I know. He was a big beefcake guy. We were trying to get the other end snapped in. And then, there was a bright light in my face and I couldn't see anything, and I got really scared, cause it was all too dark in this huge hall, and I started shouting for Eric. He was close by, and I was able to reach out and feel his back and hang on to him as my eyes adjusted to the pitch blackness.

Then, when I started to be able to see again, I noticed that everyone was gone. Only their shoes were left behind. I was looking around the half circle, and saw all these shoes. Then I started panicking. And I wanted to get out of that building where it was too dark and spooky. So I grab Eric's hand and we run out of the hall, across a long hallway that kept going down in planes. Kind of like terraces. It would be like 20 feet, then a step, then 20 feet and another step. And it seemed to go on forever.

And out the back doors of the place onto this tiny little balcony made of stone overlooking a cliff drop off. And I thought Eric was trying to kill me and throw me over the edge. I was so scared. I grabbed Eric's hand and went back inside down the long hallway. And I was crying and muttering about how I was terrified of Eric but I was more afraid of being alone.

And Eric kept getting weaker and weaker. So he was leaning on me and I was carrying him toward the lobby of the building. And he was so heavy. And I didn't think I could carry him anymore. And I could tell he was dying. And I was on the floor crawling, with him on my back, dragging him along. Getting weaker and weaker.

And then we got to the lobby and there were all these employee type people there. But they weren't friendly or welcoming. A lady behind the desk, a bell boy type guy, a concierge type guy. And the concierge was like "did you think the Lord would not find out? Did you think he could not see you?"

And I was weeping and struggling under Eric's weight, and pulling him along trying to get outside. And the concierge is going on and on "You'll pay for this eternally" and stuff.

And I get outside, and it's a tangled mess of trees and roots, thick, and hard to get through. And I throw Eric's body aside. He's dead and I just don't have the strength to carry him anymore. And I'm frightened and panicked and thrashing through the overgrowth. And I'm praying, asking Jesus to help me get out of here and saying that I believed all along and begging him to see me to safety.

Then I'm out on road, trying to flag down a car. And there is a couple in their forties with a baby. And we're waving frantically at the cars. But in some of them, I can "see" trouble. It's not like I can see inside the car, but almost like I can see them inside the car a la Unbreakable ... like there was a guy with a gun, and I saw him in his car reaching into his jeans to get his gun and fire it at a motorcyclist behind him. But he wasn't doing it at that moment.

So the couple with the baby gets a ride before I do, stupid baby! And then this SUV pulls over to pick me up. And it's a hippie mom with her hair in braids on top of her head. And TONS of kids. Three in the front seat, more in the back. And before I get in, I look up the road toward the scary church place and I worry that a hippie mom isn't a good cover, and they might be looking for her, too. And when we drive past, they could find me again ... and then I woke up.

Very frightened.

La Chat in a hat

2005-03-03T11:28:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Read Across America Day. Several local elementary schools joined in the celebration of Dr. Seuss' birthday by inviting volunteers to come and read to the kids throughout the day.

Readers were able to pick their Seuss book from a table in the lobby. I was hoping for some Lorax, Sneetches or Oh! The Places You'll Go! ... in retrospect I should have brought my own, cause the pickin's were slim.

I settled for Yertle the Turtle. It was a story I was unfamiliar with, so I told the kids we could all learn it together.

I was FABULOUS. The first graders loved me. I was energetic, I used voices, they were laughing and gasping and clapping ... they told me I was the best reader they'd had all day. w00t!

When I got back to the lobby to drop off Yertle (I was quite disappointed with that one) Fox in Sox had appeared. I SO would have chose Fox in Sox!

Oh well, I say, perhaps next year
I'll be able to read a story so dear
As soxes on foxes
or sneetches who sneer
or the tragic plight of developed nations gobbling up the planet's resources and creating mass waste with devestating effects on the environment ...

Dream a little dream

2005-03-03T09:21:00.000-05:00

The other night I dreamt I was being toasted in a toaster. I woke up hot! And, like most of my dreams, it took me a minute to realize it was only a dream. I found myself feeling my arms to make sure they weren't flaky golden brown. It was only a dream.

Last night, I had one of the longest, scariest dreams I've had in a while. I often dream that I'm being chased. And I wake up panicked and frightened. I read that being chased means that you are running away from responsibility or neglecting something in your life. The best thing to do in a dream is confront whatever is chasing you. But I'm too scared to try.

Anyway. This morning, I woke up with a start. Frantic and gasping. LISBF is used to my startled awakenings.

LCN: I had a bad dream again.
LISBF: Did it involve small appliances?
LCN: (disgusted) NO!
LISBF: ... you weren't being blended, were you?

I was not amused. I think being blended would be scary indeed.

Alanis might say it's ironic

2005-02-28T13:54:00.000-05:00

I ran to Staples during lunch to pick up some bright white paper.

The clerk in the checkout line had trouble finding a stapler to affix my receipts together.

It's like rain ...

Out Sick

2005-02-28T08:09:00.000-05:00

So I took the day off sick Friday.

I woke up feeling wretched.

My stomach was rumbling like a geyser. At any given moment, I had urges to puke my guts out.

Guess that's what I get for drinking at a bowling alley (I scored 63) till 12:30 the night before.

Still haven't learned ... it's not wise to party on a school night.

I'll show you my tatts

2005-02-24T13:51:00.000-05:00

Kmart has requested that we all show him our tatts.

I have four.

I did not follow ACW's FIVE RULES for getting a tattoo before my most recent ink ... and perhaps I should have. You be the judge.

Warning ... it's in a kinda private place ...

Give me a ring

2005-02-24T08:54:00.000-05:00

So, I recently switched cell phone companies. Along with the switch came a new phone.

My old phone was mighty old. Green screen, limited customization, weight of a softball ... and when I got a call, it just ... rang.

I miss it.

The new phone has about a gazillion ring tone options ... all of them lame. I can choose from "Happy Birthday," "Salsa Dance," "Mystery." I hate them all.

Then today, in my inbox, I received an offer from the new wireless company to download one free $1.99 ringtone.

So I loaded up the site and started searching for the ringtone that says "LCN's phone."

How is it possible that I HATE THEM ALL?

I just want a RING. Not the latest pop anthem from Destiny's Child, not a synthesized version of "She Bangs," not the opening lines of the theme song from Friends.

But then I found the '80s section...

So the only question is ... "Ice Ice Baby" or "Careless Whisper"?