PickledCherub

May the train keep rollin' on.

Alexia, my "ethinc" roommate (it's an old inside joke--she was my freshman and junior year roommate at boarding school) sent me a toy in the mail today. It's an electronic ball that plays 20 Questions with you (check it out). I was amazed when it guessed my first attempt after only 20 questions. (I was thinking of "water.") After that it wasn't so hot. But, hey, it's an electronic ball.

My tummy has been not so hot lately, and when I walked into work I felt not so hot. I stuck it out, and it was an OK night. We have a new worker bee named Lydia, and she's really nice. She's young. She has been really sick lately, with super tough pneumonia, and so she's lost a lot of weight. She's trying to gain it back, but she told me that she gets really offended when people ask her if she anorexic, as if it were a compliment. "I'm eating my internal organs," she said, in earshot of some old couple. I thought that was a great thing for them to hear. "Welcome to our restaurant! We eat our internal organs!"

Southwest has a special page for "Customers of Size": Looky loo! I guess that it's good that they have a policy.

What's your policy?

My life has quite diverged from what I thought it was going to be when I was in High School. For a while I thought I was going to be a buddhist nun, or a poet, or a rabbi.

I get a lot of time to sit around and think. Maybe, too much time. Which isn't to say that I'm unhappy,or anything, but maybe just a bit surprised. I enjoy watching the trees begin to go green. I like watering plants and starting seedlings. I like a little aimlessness.

I went out on a Red Cross call Monday night, got lost on the way, got stuck in traffic, and then sat in my team leader's car calling hotels and filling out forms, sitting silent and powerless as a middle aged woman cried, stunned that her house had caught fire, grateful that someone was there, in cold, rainy Beaverton, for no good reason except that we were, to help her and her family.

It's not a bad life. I write song lyrics, and that's like writing poems, except not as 'gay.' Steve and I sat outside work the other night, smoking, and we talked about being moody people, about being creative people, about where our sadness goes when at a certain point it has to go somewhere. "I think it's a good thing, I feel lucky to be how I am, even if it's difficult, because sometimes I make something that's cool." I don't know if I believe any individual life has a purpose, but I do know that some people are driven and focused, and are therefore brimming with creative output; and some people are products of their mental states, only producing when it's necessary. I fall mostly into the second camp (although there are definitely moments when I'm in the first). I don't mind how I am, because there's no point in being concerned about things you can't control, like how the thunderstorms out here are puny compared to the ones I grew up with. Maybe you're grown up when you realize that there's only so much you can change.

I woke up with a really terrible apocalyptic nightmare in my head. Some mystical lady I happened to be having lunch with convinced me that the workd was going to end, and that I needed to buy a house on a hill, and so I sought comfort in a Catholic church, from a lady bishop, who thought (just by looking at me) that I'd been raped. "No," I said, "it's more like an emotional psychological rape." In the background, accompanying some young boy/father rite of passage ceremony, was Matthew and a band playing one of the Natural Bridges songs ("Birdsong").

Work was busy again. A lady (for whom, by this time, I had already developed a distinct dislike) asked me what one dessert was (and it was the only one that wasn't labeled). Mind you, I had been running around for six hours, and the restaurant was full, with people wandering about, waiting for dishes to be cleared off their tables, waiting for their checks, waiting for water, and she was not top priority (she and her husband had been milling for about ten minutes by then, but with no direction). I said, "It's the Pink Flamingo." She looked at me with these hateful eyes and said, "In English, please." "Pink Flamingo is English," I snapped back. "I know. What's in it?" I rattled off the ingredients. She ordered a small decaf coffee and a cherry to go for her husband. I retreated into the back, and waited until they left. They kept milling for about another five minutes. I knew that if I'd stayed up there she would've asked me for Splenda and steamed soy milk or something to go in her coffee.

"Pink Flamingo is English." That's a classic.

I've been searching the internet, networking, trying to find places to send my podcast. It's nice that my friends and family listen, but I'd like more anonymous strangers to listen. And I keep finding people! There are tons of people out there who are supportive. Awesome.

I left work early today. Then I went to the bank.

I just finished making a mushroom Risotto-style Orzo for lunch for my co-workers tomorrow, and Chris wanted to eat it before work and I said, no way.

Then I heard Sedna sneaking up the stairs. When I looked over the ledge, I say her shoulder-deep in the litter box. I yelled at her, sent her to her room, and picked up the tiny piece of kitty poop she dropped while running away.

This guy in Finland found my podcast Amysue Sings a Song, and he liked it enough to re-broadcast my "Exploding Helen" along with types such as Matmos. OW! Find it here.

First Helsinki, then the Baltic States, then the WORLD!

In an unlikely turn of events, I've decided to stop eating refined sugars. Why? Mainly to keep myself from eating the sweets that I sell. It is a challenge at work, but not any where else. I compensated by eating sandwiches and drinking wine. Lots of wine. I've also moved from whiskey and bourbon to wine. That's more of a taste preference than anything. I've also been less excited about beer. I still like beer, but I've been ordering wine.

I rented some PeeWee's Playhouse, and saw an episode last night where PeeWee makes a parfait (which is French for . . . Parfait!). I had a flashback to being ten and watching that episode, and then making my own parfait. Television is weird.

There's a fine layer of ash, volcanic ash, I suppose, on my car, and everyone else's car, here in Portland. A mountain erupted, and made one giant mess of things. Typical.

I made a nice new podcast. Hey, you should please visit my podcast. PLEASE!

There's a fine layer of ash, volcanic ash, I suppose, on my car, and everyone else's car, here in Portland. A mountain erupted, and made one giant mess of things. Typical.

I made a nice new podcast. Hey, you should please visit my podcast. PLEASE!

Chris got his Birthday ipod yesterday, and he's in love with it. Today we listened to music together in the park after a bike ride/rollerblade. He got a pink one.

"Mt boyfriend's back he's gonna save my reputation!" I've been singing that song a lot. Work was slow, but that was good because Sabrina and Steve and I were feeling pretty lazy. Seriously lazy. I started a cigarette cup so everyone can stop bumming smokes from Sabrina. It's gonna work great, I promise, because people like communal things!

Chris comes back later today, and I'm going to pick him up after I get off work. I'm excited, and I've been trying extra hard to keep things clean. I've enjoyed my solitary time. But the cats miss him.

I got my hair cut and colored today. And, because I'm a fool, I got my eyelashes tinted. My eyeballs have been bright red all night, and burning. I wonder if people think I'm high, or upset. Nah. I got a lot of compliments on my new 'do today, from random strangers. That makes me feel good. A girl likes to feel pretty.

Speaking of pretty, Lisa and Douglas came into work tonight to pick up some desserts before the baby arrives. Lisa looks so good pregnant, and so does Steve's girlfriend, Holly. Pregnant women are so lovely when they're not throwing up.

I've found some cool cheap records, including 10CC's "The Original Soundtrack," which has my favorite song on it.

My eyes hurt. I'm going to bed now.

I love you!