This is my new baby, Baxter*. Go ahead, fawn over him. I know you can’t help it. I can’t help it and I spend all day, every day with him.

*names have been changed to protect the young, innocent and adorable

I have small boobs. I’m generally okay with this, although occasionally I look into boob jobs and alternative methods of growing the li’l knockers. I don’t actually crave large breasts, but something that filled out the clothes a little better would be nice, I admit. Mine are not non-existent, they are definitely breasts, and I’ve seen smaller (or, rather, flatter). But yeah, they’re small.

Anyway, earlier tonight I was taking all sorts of body measurements since I am trying to get in shape and I needed some beginning reference point. And just for shits and giggles, I took the measurements required to calculate your bra size and went to an online bra size calculator. Actually, I went to two.

Here is the message I got on the first one:
“Error: The numbers you entered are not in the range of our Bra Size Calculator. Please check to make sure the numbers are correct.”

I diligently checked to make sure the numbers were correct, and tried again.

Same response.

I went to the second site and put in my numbers, where I received this message:
“Your bra size is 36. But no bra is needed if these measurements are correct.”

Okay, WEBSITES, way to make a girl feel good! Look, I wear bras that actually exist in the real world. They are not size AA, they fit, and they generally fit pretty well. Granted, I feel lucky in that I can often get away without wearing a bra (even if I do look like a hoochie mama whilst doing so), but to tell me that my boob size is INCOMPREHENSIBLE in today’s world is not helping my boob-esteem at all.

Incidentally, my band/bra size is by no stretch of the imagination a 36. So screw you, site number two, you suck!

Site number one, you suck too. My boobs say so.

go forth and blingo!

no, seriously, do it! you can win stuff and it’s totally non-intrusive. and also, if you win, i win, so we all win! yay!

So check out this nonsense:

I own 4 cars. Yes, it’s nonsensical. No, I don’t need 4 cars. No, I don’t even WANT 4 cars. Am I supposed to be spelling out “4″? Whatever.

I am trying to sell 2 of the cars, and not really having much luck, which is ruining my life since I pay $950/month for these two cars. The third I couldn’t give away if I wanted, and besides, it has sentimental value and gets great gas mileage. Plus, it’s all paid off.

The fourth is the car I use everyday.

I live in an apartment complex with a very healthy dose of open parking spaces, and I’ve been here 3 years with nary a complaint about my cars.

Well, tonight I get home from work at around 2am, only to find towing notices on THREE of my cars. The tow date? Today at 6am.

So I’ve spent the last couple hours scrambling around, trying to find parking spaces for the three cars somewhere within walking distance — no easy feat considering the nearest residential street is a couple blocks away, and finding a parking space at 3am means I have to push out my search distance by a few additional blocks.

Why were the cars supposed to be towed? Let’s see, one for “non-operability”, which is untrue, as evidenced by the fact that I got in the car and drove it away (but would I have time to argue that with the apartment manager before 6:30 in the morning? Short answer: No).

Another for expired registration, due in August. This WOULD have been paid except for the fact that one of my cars got towed TWO WEEKS ago and I had to pay $300 to get it out — thus leaving me with no money to pay the $300 registration for the car in question. I’ll try to scrape together the cash and pay it today (during business hours), so hopefully that will be a non-issue soon enough.

The last is for expired registration, due in April. This is the car that was towed two weeks ago. Granted, this was probably deserved as the registration appears to be well overdue. HowEVER, this registration has actually been paid (to the tune of $235). I can’t receive the sticker, however, until the insurance is verified, and I have been going through all sorts of hell with my insurance company over the past couple weeks since they seem to have completely erased any existence of the policy I had with them that covered this car. This car is a pain in my ass as I really want to sell it but have to straighten out the registration issues before I go trying to transfer the title.

So. I’m tired. I probably walked a good couple miles between 2am and 4am after dropping off the three cars in various places. And I have to go traipse around the neighborhood tomorrow, picking them back up. I just hope that the apartment complex will leave them alone once they’re back. (I’m not bringing back the one with the April reg sticker.) (And no, I’m not going to explain things to the office because the office manager is a bitch from hell and her main goal in life is to stomp on humanity with her managerial combat boots — she shuns rational conversation with a zealous fanaticism that is really horrifying to witness.)

That’s about all I have to say for now.

I just recently remembered that I have a blog, and the statistics to track who visits it. Sometimes this is a good way to learn about oneself.

According to ask.com, I am the premier font of information regarding Pizza Hut Quepapas. What are quepapas, you ask-dot-com? To be honest, you’re probably better off getting that information from Wikipedia. What I find interesting is that despite the search engine link, I am not actually sure where that information is contained in my blog. If you know, do share. I don’t have the patience or the desire to find the information myself.

I’ve read dooce off and on for awhile now, as has every other blogger in the known universe. She’s got that ability to reach inside you and make you laugh hysterically, nod in sage agreement, tear your hair out in violent disagreement, and sometimes, she’ll even make your eyes tear up a little.

Dooce, aka Heather B. Armstrong, has started a new project; I’ll admit I didn’t look too much into it except to read the article she just promoted on her main blog. So I don’t have anything to say about the new project, but I do have to say that the article she was hawking — an article about training dogs (except, not entirely) — got me all choked up.

I’d say I’m losing it, but I think Heather is really just that good.

This is kind of long but pretty freaking hilarious. Apparently I have become yet another mindless youtube video distributor.

This blog is slowly degenerating into a startingly similar version of its predecessor.

But forget about that, check out this cat jump. Full of poise and grace.

Dudes!

I think there is a mouse in my house! I think it is rooting through the garbage bag I filled with trash from my room the other day. The one I threw into my bathroom closet because I wasn’t done with it yet and I have been too busy to complete the clean-up task! The one that is currently preventing me from GOING ANYWHERE NEAR MY BATHROOM OR MY CLOSET FOR THAT MATTER, BECAUSE WHAT IF A MOUSE OR GOD FORBID A RAT IS IN THERE????

I don’t know what to do! If I ignore it, will it just make a happy home? Start running amok in my room, nay, my entire apartment? If I investigate the situation, I will surely die of cardiac arrest. If Steeler were around I would make him check it out, but HE ISN’T!

SO WHAT DO I DO???

Hi.

I’m sorry for being so horribly awful about keeping in touch with you, Steph, and with you also, T.

I feel crappy.

I was going to write a post that was all self-righteous about how fruitless it is to be as thoughtful as I am. Because I really do try to be the best person I can, and to consider other people as much as possible in my actions and reactions. And I consistently find that (1) nobody around me is even half as thoughtful towards me as I am towards them, which ends up hurting my feelings when I notice; and (2) the emotional effort I expend in order to consider others is rarely rewarded or acknowledged.

And this is definitely true with the people I interact with the most.

But then I realized that I am really crappy at keeping in touch with people who are far away, even when they really want to get in touch and leave messages and send emails and write letters and mail thoughtful cards and I can tell that they are reaching out for a friend, maybe even their best friend.

In summary, I suck just as much as the people around me. I will try harder to be a better person and a better friend.

Fun at the office makes me laugh.

I have had a spate of vivid and memorable dreams the past couple weeks. My dreams do tend to be vivid, but I don’t always remember them.

The one last night involved me on a big road trip… the remarkable thing was that I had all my belongings with me (in only a few bags, imagine that!) and I had no idea where I was going. I just kept driving and driving. Except at some point my “driving” consisted of pushing a shopping cart down the highway (bad omen?). I realized that I had missed my exit so I got off the highway (there were only signs for Highways 58 and 158, and after that the highway turned into Highway 1, none of which I wanted, so I had to exit on the 158 junction but luckily there was one road exit before I got on the freeway. I can’t remember the name of that exit but the point of telling this is to show you what RIDICULOUS details I come up with and remember in my dreams. By the way, these highways and junctions do not really exist, well, they do exist, but not in the way I had them in my dream, and they are not roads I ever, ever travel, so it’s not like I see them daily and just incorporated them)

Anyway. I got off on the last exit, switched shopping carts (it’s a dream, okay, it made sense at the time) turned around, sat at the light waiting for a U-turn, and got another couple miles down the road before I realized I had left my purse hanging on the shopping cart I had previously used.

So I drive/push my way back to the original shopping cart but at this point I am inside some large area, kind of like an airport except it was a restaurant/bar. And the manager was going down the escalator to retrieve my purse, even though he didn’t know it belonged to me. He had blocked off the escalator after he went downstairs so I had to yell to him from above that it was my purse.

Okay, this part lasted a good hour (dream-time) so I’ll have to skip ahead. Suffice it to say that there were a lot of conversations with the bar manager and his assistant and guys in the bar and the bartender and blah blah blah.

Anyway. The other semi-interesting part of the dream is that my stepdad and mom were with us (my sister had shown up at this point) and we were going to eat breakfast. On the walk to the breakfast room, I noticed my ipod was sitting in a puddle of water outside. I had dropped it while trying to collect all my things from the bar the previous night.

So I pick up the ipod and freak out about it being all wet and try to show my father-figure (who I refer to as such because I am not so sure it was my stepfather anymore, it could have been my real dad, or possibly even my best friend — which is fairly disturbing as he is an ex of mine, anyway the point is, I can’t distinguish who this male figure was at this point…)

Yes, so I was trying to show my father-figure this ipod and he was very rude and condescending towards me (which none of the afore-mentioned males would ever be in real life) and I got pissed and when we got into the restaurant I told him I didn’t feel like eating with them. My sister stayed with me, and he didn’t care, so he went to go meet my mother (who was some lady in an fancy, formal updo, I couldn’t see her b/c she was too far away, so who knows if it really was my mother).

My sister and I left, and I packed up to continue my trek on to who-knows-where — actually I think I had decided to head to Vermont — and it really took quite awhile to pack all my crap up. I handed out my business card to the bartender and told her if she ever needed her house refinanced, it wasn’t too far for me to drive and help her out.

Yadda yadda yadda, the dream goes on, but I guess that is enough for me to remember it when I look back on this.

_______

I have 5 choreographed dances to learn for a gig that I was just hired for yesterday. The gig is tonight. Which means I have about 5 hours to learn 5 dances to professional performance standards. That’s harder that it sounds.

And it means I don’t have time to be here. Bye!

So, I keep thinking about all the things I should be writing about, and then I do something like lose my mind over the fact that I can’t come up with a TITLE and decide that my story wasn’t worth writing in the first place and so then I never update my blog.

For example, this morning I started writing about this dream I had last night which involved lots of purple force fields, an enclosed, self-sustaining community somewhat akin to that of the Enterprise (or is that The Enterprise), TNG-era. Okay, maybe that’s not self-sustaining, but whatever.

In addition to the purple force fields, and the healing rooms, and the many sporting events that were happening, T (t, where are you? i have been thinking of you a lot lately which is why i guess you popped up in my dream, but it is in a weird way which you will see, shortly), anyway, T was pregnant. Except not at first. At first, T was on her way to go watch some high-school sporting event, not a real-life event, but some sport that I had fully created in my dream, complete with rules and playbacks and everything needed to watch it on TV…

But back to T. She was pregnant, and her due date had arrived, and so had her whole family. Except for some reason her whole family was looking to me to find T, and I couldn’t find her, because she wasn’t watching the game where she said she would be watching it, and this is probably because that room had suddenly become a birthing/hospital room, so she couldn’t have been watching the game there anyway.

So T’s family and I stood around the birthing/hospital room, wondering what had happened to T, after all, today was her due date, and soon her family started yelling at the midwife and they pretty much freaked out, and so I called T from my cell phone.

She was on the beach in Pacifica with a couple friends, and she hadn’t had the baby yet. Which is good because her family was conjuring up images of T having died during childbirth and for some reason there was a dead baby bird laying in a shallow cardboard box that was present expressly to symbolize T’s fate.

…. Um, right. So that was what I was going to write about this morning, and somehow the fact that I didn’t write about it, and couldn’t write about it, because I couldn’t come up with an appropriate title, somehow that fact was important when I started this entry.

I didn’t enter that dream into my dreamlog because I couldn’t possibly really do it justice. It was one of my cinematic movie-length dreams, from which I am able to recount every line of dialogue and details so minute they would make excruciatingly boring reading. I didn’t even think I could summarize it, but apparently I have, so there you go.

I think I forgot to tell you about my new man.
He is a heartbreaker. Absolutely gorgeous. Unbelievably adorable. We’ve been together about 2 and a half months, actually.

His name is Steeler.

As in the Pittsburgh Steelers.

He’s 8 months old now (I think he was about 6 months in this pic). Registered Border Collie.

His tongue is too long for his mouth, so it always sticks out like that. Can I tell you how cute this is?

He’s brilliant, too!

I love him!

I’m his mama, but he’s not really mine. His daddy (my baby daddy) shares him with me, so I get to spend a lot of time with my little one.

More pics later!

GO STEELERS!