I was peering into the mirror and noticed that sheen of wannabe-red in my hair again. It reassures me that I have somne sort of excuse to fly off the handle from time to time. Luckily, my assaults are usually directed toward cardboard boxes and piles of paper. I have learned from experience that I always regret physical fights with technology. Technology is fragile. Don't worry. That was a past experience not a recent one.

Anyway, I have been neglecting my e-journal again. I haven't received any complaints which reassures me that no one is really reading my thoughts here. I have begun to work on my piles of fabric again. I ssearched out fabric to make one quilt, but I seem to be working on a completely different one. Indecision is a terrible thing to waste after all. It is kind of an army theme, but I didn't have enough camoflauge fabric, so I have lots of brown. I may have to try my hand at making my own appliques.

I ask again, "Do you remember when,
You first learned love surpasses sin
And all have the chance to become more
Than their sins allowed them to be before?"

I know this face. From the pink nose to the little patch of black and brown that tips across one ear. It's my Rodney looking at me. Howver, he seems to have become a Cheshire Cat. He smiles at me with abnormally large teeth that have been stained blue by some chemical. Then I realize he seems to be depressed because he doesn't have a bookshelf to climb on. It isn't where it used to be. Poor fellow. This is one of the many weird dreams I had last night.

Despite the weirdness of my dreams, I finally dragged myself out of bed. I then gave the yodamobile a trip to the car restaurant. Loaded with a fresh quart (or two) of oil, I managed to get slightly lost again. After a few more turns, I finally found an exit from the interstate which lead to exactly where I wanted to go. Of course, I became distracted by a pet store. After the dream last night, I felt the urge to pet a kitty.

I wandered innocently past the man unloading massive amounts of canned dog food. Upon entering the store, I could smell the soiled sawdust and varied animal ruffage. I roamed along the edges of the store, peering in at tarantualas, iguanas, rats, and hamsters. I even stopped to peer at a parrot who could have had the run of the store since he wasn't caged. His feathers looked damaged and he found no interest in me.

A couple of minutes later, I turned a corner. I was veering towards some large cages that looked promising. I had barely turned the corner when someone vocalized his interest in me. He was, of course, a cat. He started reaching for me through the bars. At first, I wasn't sure if they were friendly swipes of the paw, but when I crouched down in front of him, I had no doubt. I petted his little ears. He seemed to like that.

Then I noticed that he had a companion. She was a tortoiseshell cat, which immediately got my attention. I had a tortoiseshell cat once who adored me. This one seemed excited to meet me as well. Of course, I couldn't take either of them home. I love my husband quite a bit, so I'll just hope that both those creatures find their own crazy cat lady to love.

After making a few delicious purchases at the local supermarket, I returned home. I have spent part of the afternoon cleaning, but seem to have lost inertia since tonight's visitor's forgot they were supposed to show up. I can't complain though. Now I have about two dozen dark chocolate mini cupcakes and three little heart-shaped cakes. I have carefully decorated the cakes, so my husband will know exactly how I feel about him. It promises to be a good evening alone with the hubby (and chocolate).

The morning begab with me mistaking the bottle of Charlie White on the counter in the bathroom for a locker room teammate. In short, I whacked it with a towel on my way out of the tub. It landed on the pink tiles with an unreassuring crash. Now the bathroom smells like a house of ill-repute. I am hoping it fades away as there is only so much scrubbing the ancient tiles can handle.

As the morning progressed, my husband and I began rearranging our furniture. We've been industriously attempting to make our house feel less cluttered and user friendly.

The other night I had one of those disturbing dreams that reminds me that even divas can be paranoid. Of course, is it paranoia if, deep down, I know it's true? Anyway, the dream involved two men who have shown more interest in short little me than they should, mainly because most people can see right over my head with no problem. One of them posted something on his website that he intended to be seen by me. As I don't stalk the people who stalk me, I was aware of this. I was made aware of this by another stalker who was far more upset about it than he has any right to be (by this, you know I am not referring to my darling husband as a stalker.) He actually came across it trying to find my website. *shudder* I am actually still a little disturbed, but I think it will be okay.

That isn't to say that I don't understand obsession. I have been obsessed with pudding pops for years. I am not referring to the ones made by popsicle. I swear the ones I loved so much were made by the Eskimo Pie people. I could be wrong, but they were not made by Popsicle. Anyway, I have annoyed and irritated many roommates with my lament over my missing delicious friends. I have also annoyed more of my friends with my obsession over my kitchen aid mixer, or, as my husband calls it, my precious. Well, today, the two have met and made me one happy and soon to be very round hobbit. I made ice cream today that tastes just like my beloved pudding pops. I'M SO HAPPY! Did you get that?

I also got to talk to a dear friend of mine. She used to read this journal back when it was quirky and funny. On the off chance that she happens by, I'd like to remind her that she truly is a dear friend. I have never had to rant about her on this journal once. And if I lived closer, I would totally come hang out at her house, even if her kids covered me in stickers and tried to put half-eaten, soggy animal crackers (horrible, horrible memories) into my mouth.

Being a housewife has its perks such as sleeping in and sitting on the couch eating bonbons. It also has its dull moments. I try to dispel those with working on novels, short stories, or whatever other literary inspirations my muses toss my way. I also have begun to observe the phenomenon of the mail. Even as I type, a UPS truck is traveling past my house like a hunk of chocolate on wheels. It isn't stopping here, of course. I am expecting my exciting delivery of new scriptures tomorrow. At which point, I will begin making my own fabric cover for them. In the meantime, I will keep observing my mail person. I am not saying that to be PC. I am saying that because I have yet to see them even when I heard the cover snap closed and rushed to hand them a piece of mail. And, yes, I know I could just leave it in the mailbox, but as it was about four o'clock when they finally showed, I had brought the letter back in so it wouldn't sit over night.

If Cliff Klaven were here, I'd have so many questions for him. I suppose I could ask my brother who was one of Klaven's peers for a couple of weeks before he tired of delivering net flicks. Anyway, back to my questions. Do they have to stop to see if I have left something to go out even if I don't have any mail? This led to my previous mad dash to see the speediest mail deliverer in the east. I wasn't sure and since it was so late, I figured maybe they don't have to check. Why would the range of drop off times be anywhere from ten in the morning to five in the evening? I realize that they'll have a different amount of mail to sort each day, but that is a seven hour difference. (There goes another tasty UPS truck.) Do you just drop off any excess mail at my house to amuse yourself? I get mail for people who live eight houses down and people who live on different roads. I am sure that I will get mail addressed to someone who lives on the other side of the country eventually. I am looking forward to it in fact.

Once upon a time, I started taking bellydance classes with a dear friend of mine. It inspired me to make a top ten list. As I have begin watching FitTVs dance-themed shows, I have felt inspired to share more things I learn from such experiences.

TOP TEN KNOWLEDGES GLEANED FROM DANCE LESSONS ON THE SHINY BOX

1. Laughing doesn't count as breathing in or out.
2. I have reached a sad state where I sweat during the warm-ups.
3. My arms should move like fluid, but they don't want to.
4. I can't move my arms and legs at the same time if I think about it. If I don't think about it, be careful.
5. Some things are going to look ridiculous no matter who does them.
6. I still do better when I don't think about it.
7. Hobbits look kind of funny when they bellydance.
8. MED is designed for hobbits as it doesn't require shoes.(Is that ironic?)
9. I still love belts that jingle and fringe that bounces.
10. My hips need help.

As a self-declared goddess of love, I take the time to hurt a little whenever I hear about people making mistakes of the heart. It could be because I love them. It could be because I fear I was once young enough to make the same mistakes. It is good to be young at heart, but it isn't good to let ourselves be moved by every whim and fancy. Part of being an adult is accepting that when we have someone who truly loves us, we can make the effort to appreciate that every day.

For instance, sometimes my husband does little things that drive me crazy. Most of the time, however, he makes me so happy that I feel it might explode in sunshine. Most people tell me this is just part of being a newlywed, but I think it comes more from finding a man who loves me, respects me, and treats me better than I usually think I deserve. Maybe that's why when I see another woman I care about refusing to accept how loving the man she married is.

It may be because he has continued to do what others have traditional done where she is concerned. They love her. They care for her. They try to give her everything she wants so that she will be happy. She is happy for a time, but then she wants more. What she is seeking, however, has been right there with her since she married the man who gave her a new last name. Yet she seeks excitement that has been offered to her by someone she has never really met. I can only hope she'll be wise like I was, like others I have loved were, when offered the temptation of a fantasy love that will not exist when it tries to enter the real world. I know I speak in riddles, but do you really want to understand?

I think most of us would rather stick our head in the sand. I have to remind myself not to put my nose in the middle of the train of events. I know from personal experience that people need to work through things for themselves. So what can I do? I think most people know the answer to that. It starts with a p and ends in rayer...

It's well-documented that newlyweds are disgusting creatures. Some of the grossness stems from their inability to keep their lips or hands from touching for longer than about twenty seconds. Their mushy loving glances don't help. Worst of all is how they seem to be attached at the hip whenever possible. They shop together. They watch hockey together. They even follow each other to functions they may not be interested in such as toenail appreciation.

One of the most annoying occurrences to these disgusting people is being kept apart when they expect to be together. I have noticed lately that I get really excited around four in the afternoon. I try to wrap up my obsessive television watching, sewing, and surfing (on the web), so I can spend time with the most handsome man in the world. Around five, I realize that he actually won't be home for another hour. I admit that usually puts a crimp in my smile. In fact, it makes my little lips pout as the corners turn downward. Imagine how much further those corners slip downward when about ten minutes later, my love calls to let me know that something came up at work and he won't be home until an hour and a half after I was originally expecting him.

Then add to that the obvious unhappiness seeping from him that he has to spend even more time away from me. If it weren't Friday, it might not be so bad. If it wasn't the second time this week, it might not be so annoying. If the first game of the second series for the Pens wasn't about to start, we probably wouldn't be as disappointed. So while I wait for my husband, I complain to this journal, warm up the oven, and plot against a burger. At least my hubby should come home to some nice warm food and some kisses. That is if I can keep him from dashing off to work on his computer long enough to steal one. Hehehe. Oh, we all know I'll get more than one kiss.