11.19.02
So, everyone else in the free world (or at least most of the Band of Buggered Forum) has seen tonight's episode of 'Buffy'. Everybody except me and the other West Coast lame-os. While I wait I'll talk about the last few days:

Saturday night I went to Club M. I've been amusing myself greatly trying to imagine what the 'M' stands for. Something kinky, for sure. I got there around ten-forty five, discovered it was the only club in all of Southern California that does not have valet parking, and then walked three blocks from my car. Alone. On PCH. (That's Pacific Coast Highway, not some trendy new narcotic.) When I got to the club there was a long line out the door but my friend appeared with a VIP pass so that I didn't have to wait, or pay cover. I felt very special for the two minutes before the pass was taken away from me. Curses!

The club was okay. Music was too slow for my taste, but the go-go dancers were interesting. Well, I thought they were interesting. The dancers themselves looked kind of bored. I danced a lot and am considering that my exercise for November.

Not much else to report, except that last night I had a Moment of Mortification when, coming up the stairs to our apartment, my boyfriend knocked down and broke this plaster bird-shaped-plant-holder-thingy that hung from our neighbors' patio. It looked so forlorn -- this disattached little sparrow that fit in the palm of my hand. So I took it inside with me and wrote an apologetic note to our neighbors, folded the note and stuck twenty-five dollars inside, and snuck back downstairs. Our neighbors weren't home so I left everything on their doorstep.

Moment of Mortification #2: when said neighbor rang our doorbell half an hour later, as my boyfriend and I were in the middle of an argument about ten feet away. I'm sure she must have overheard us but she was very sweet, refused to take the money and said I looked like I had lost weight. So I'm putting the whole incident in the 'plus' column.

Gah! Is 'Buffy' on yet? I hope Spike bites everybody in tonight's episode. And then I hope he comes over here and bites me.

11.12.02
THIS BLOG ENTRY CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 'BUFFY' EPISODE 7.07, "Conversations With Dead People"

I got nominated for an Immortal Moonlight award. Pretty picture of Spike. See? Thank you very much to everyone who enjoyed 'Roundabout'. I know I keep saying it, but -- writing this story has changed my life. And I don't care what that says about me. Thanks, again.

I still don't believe it, but I'm loving 'BtVS' again full-force. Tonight's episode may not have redeemed Spike, but it sure as hell redeemed Mutant Enemy -- at least in my eyes. The creepiness factor was impressively high, particularly Dawn alone in the house with 'Joyce', and bad-influence Warren hanging around. Was smiling throughout Buffy's heart-to-unbeating-heart with Therapy!Vamp; she finally said all the things I've been waiting to hear and never thought I would. They managed to cram a lot of emotional unburdening into one episode, but at this point I'm glad they didn't draw it out -- more chance for some hack writer *cough*MartiNoxon*cough* to screw it up. And I know this will be an unpopular opinion, but -- I was cheering when I saw Spike up to his old tricks. Now, this was pretty guilt-free on my part, because I feel confident that things aren't as simple as they appeared. But come on -- wasn't it good to see Spike biting someone again? Hello, vampire! I dunno; I just think anything is an improvement over the pathetic man-bitch he nearly became. I've seen what happens to Spike's redemption in the hands of the show's producers -- rather than watch them mangle even more of his character, I'd happily settle for Season 2 Spike and leave the harrowing, heartwrenching depiction of Spike's struggle toward goodness to people like starbaby and Miss Murchison and Valerie. Mmm...Valerie.

11.11.02
ashes at Valerie's forum told me to update my blog. I obeyed posthaste, which is kind of funny considering that if you tell me to do something in real life there's a distinct likelihood that I won't.
Anyway:

Saturday we went to dinner with a business associate of my boyfriend's and this man's girlfriend. The guy was wearing a pimp chain like Spike's. That's pretty much what occupied my thoughts all evening. Conversation with the other girl was out of the question -- whenever I said anything she'd laugh kind of weakly and then turn her fake boobs in the direction of my boyfriend. Look, the accent doesn't make him James Bond, okay? I mostly just sat, smiled when appropriate and imagined Spike eating everyone in the restaurant and then making the band play some decent music. My boy enjoyed the evening just as much as I did; on the car ride home all we kept talking about were home prices in Colorado.

Sunday I went to brunch in Marina Del Rey; if the pictures turn out okay maybe I'll post them. Then my boy went to watch football at his buddy's and I went to visit the woman who raised my dad. I bought and installed a new answering machine, fixed a storm window, filled out some insurance paperwork, hauled a Christmas tree and cleared out space in the garage. Now I'm wondering why I can't manage to pick up dirty clothes off the floor in my own house.

Today there was more yelling at work. I know this sounds obvious, but life at my company would be a lot easier without the screaming. Every day is like Anatomy of an Argument -- I sit at my computer, doing my impression of a trained monkey, and inwardly wince as things escalate: don'tsayitdon'tsayitdon'tsayit -- Oh! -- you just had to say that, didn't you? I understand that I have some perspective because I'm not part of the situation, but you'd think that eventually the persons involved would begin to see a pattern. I don't believe that anyone I work with is mean-spirited; they're just antagonistic and have become so insulated that they don't realize this is really inappropriate behavior for the workplace. By the way, 'inappropriate' is my all-time favorite word. Because it describes so much, and it's an overlooked but undervalued concept. Inappropriate. Say it with me.

11.05.02
So, my boyfriend and I are in the kitchen at the same time recently. Which is a rare occurence, since I refuse to make anything but cereal, frozen dinners and sandwiches. This makes my forays into the room in question brief and laser-precise.

My boy indicates a paper bag on the counter. This bag has been sitting on our counter, empty, for about six days. "When did you go to Trader Joe's?" he asks.

"I didn't. That's what Mike and Carolyn gave us the leftovers in."

"Oh," he nods. "I thought we were too cheap for Trader Joe's."

"Yeah," I agree. "They charge extra 'cause all the food is healthy and fresh."

I went to dinner at some friends' last week, and it was a jarring experience. They live in a home. Like, with window treatments and pictures hanging on the wall and multiple kinds of furniture. Whereas I don't have a table. Any kind of table. I suppose you could count the desk...but you really can't. Because it's a desk, not a table.

In the last four years I've lived in four different places. I like where I live now; I have a patio where I could put some chairs and plants; there's a fireplace (I wanted to put the entertainment center in front of it but someone vetoed that plan); there's a second bedroom that another person would turn into a relaxing haven from the hustle of the outside world. I use it mostly to sit in the dark, surrounded by boxes that haven't been unpacked since three moves ago. In fact, the entire contents of all my previous apartments are now in that room. It's still unnervingly spacious.

I know I'm going to move soon, again, so why bother settling in? The apartment doesn't feel like mine; although I'm not uncomfortable or ill at ease here, I also can't bring myself to do it up nicely. We have a couple of nice leather couches but other than that, the place is bordering on sterile. I should note that I'm not domestically inclined under the best of circumstances, so maybe this is all moot. But I think the constant sense of impermanence is wearing on me.

11.03.02
This afternoon I added Chapter 3 of The Down Below, and went grocery shopping.

Okay, what is it about the supermarket that turns people into obnoxious, oblivious assholes? Can someone please tell me? It's like they step through the automatic sliding doors and lose all sense of common courtesy. Also personal space. As in, respect mine. Am I in your way? Say "Excuse me." Except I'm not in your way, am I? You're just standing two inches away, breathing on my neck, for no apparent reason. I don't want to be that close to you; why on earth do you want to be that close to me? And to the couples who have vicious, hissing fights in the middle of the frozen food aisle: if you can't go grocery shopping together, don't. There's no shame in that; it's an activity that I myself can only do alone. But please, take the dinner theater elsewhere.

Yesterday I saw 'The Truth About Charlie'. It's a remake of 'Charade', because the stars of the original -- Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn -- just begged for competition. Hello, filmmakers? I get that the film is set in France. All the people speak French, and then there's the big old Eiffel Tower right smack in the middle of the city. It's really not necessary to put Mark Wahlberg in turtlenecks and a beret. Really. Not. Necessary. Marky Mark, I won't be able to look at you the same way again. Well, maybe if you take your shirt off a few more times.