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05.20.2003 - 6:57 p.m.

Tuesday

Something actually serious, for once: fellow Diarylander Damodred is struggling with what sounds like a really difficult health situation, and is asking for your help.

:::

I dreamed this very vivid dream last night about taking a Pilates class that was held outside, and refusing to lie on the ground because it was covered in spiders. The instructor was incredibly mean to me, basically telling me I was in no shape to even try and take the class. Later, I stood in front of a full length mirror looking at my reflection. In the mirror, I was obese. When I looked down at my actual body, it was normal, but in the mirror - enormous.

Now sometimes a banana's just a banana, and sometimes your dreams are pretty obvious. Spiders? We watched Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets last night (which really should have been called Harry Potter and The Longest Damn Movie Ever Made So Don't Try and Hold Your Pee Until The End Because You've Got One Holy Hell Of A Wait). Feelings of inadequacy during a workout class? Stemmed, no doubt, from the fact that I've been a giant slacker on hitting the gym lately. Body image confusion? I am woman, hear me roar (about the size of my ass).

While this dream was notable in the sense that I remembered it clearly even after I had been awake for a while, it definitely seems like I could be stepping it up a notch in that department. Why waste time at night running my brain over the same grooves it's dug during the day when an Abyss-era Ed Harris could be pressing me against a fucking wall somewhere? You know?

:::

From the department of finally learning something that everyone else on earth knows - foie gras, apparently, is the abnormally enlarged liver of ducks or geese who are cruelly overfed using feeding tubes. Jesus. I mean, not like I have encountered foie gras often (or, strictly, "ever"), but that is sick.

Although last night JB and I had hotdogs. Who the hell knows what goes into those things.

:::

We bought these new cell phones a while back - they're Motorola Somethingorothers, cute little gadgets with a flip top, which despite the fact that those have been around, hello, forever, still make me feel all Star Trek and cool. The future is now!

You can program the phone so you just press a button, speak a name, and it dials that person. Which I thought was so totally hip. I immediately programmed the only numbers I really ever need to call - JB's cell, JB's work phone, and our home phone. So now I can just breathe (sexily, of course) "cell", and my phone calls JB's phone.

It usually works fine, except when it doesn't. Like yesterday, when I was leaving work and trying to get ahold of JB. "Cell", I said. SPEAK NAME SLOWER, my phone said. "Cellllll," I said. NAME NOT FOUND. I repeated this several times until I was barking at the phone like a crazed drill sergeant. "Ceeelll! Cellllllll! CELL!"

I use a cell phone so rarely it startles me when it rings. I get all flustered and fish frantically through my purse, finally answering with a confused "Uh, hello?". Driving and talking on the phone is not something I feel I have completely mastered yet, either. I usually do avoid that whenever possible.

Judging by some of my fellow Seattle drivers, I think more people should follow that rule.

:::

"CELL, godfuckingdammit!"

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