So it's time for me to buy a pet for my dad again. He is finally getting over the heartbreak of losing his last hamster, Uri. He does not wish to have a "high maintenance" pet such as a dog or cat, but he would prefer something he can hold (not a fish or hermit crab). I want to get him something that will live longer than his last three hamsters and gerbils (1 to 1.5 years). I was thinking either a chinchilla or a rabbit. Any thoughts?

I also thought about a prarie dog, but they just look too squirly.


Amy and I weeded and planted flowers in the small landscape on our patio for about three hours tonight. I am sore! Who knew that gardening could be such a workout!

Today I decided that it was time. Enough with the procrastination that has chewed a pizza-shaped hole into my checking account. I was ready to get the Feds off my back and pay the more than $700 I owe in Federal taxes (thanks to my part-time serving job).

Speaking of CPK, for those friends of mine who were concerned I'd return from the weekend as Mrs. Fernando Diego Iglesias N***o, it turns out I am still single. The marriage of convenience and green card access that I toyed with is no longer necessary. Luckily, N***o did not get deported. He was somehow able to pay his fine and sink back into the quiet, unobtrusive life of an illegal restaurant chef, though I'm sure his time is laced with anxiety. Until last week when I overheard N***o and the dishwasher discussing N's "parking ticket", I was unaware of how many workers at the restaurant had questionable citizenship. Then I read about Bush's new plan to combat the floods of immigrants across the SW borders. To erect an enormous wall lining the border and make it a FELONY to be here illegally. Then I thought about the unfairness of it all. If they come here for a better life, and they contribute to society, who's to say they can't be here? It's not OUR land anyway, it's God's. Just because we came here and squashed out everyone else doesn't mean we have ultimate say (although we think we do). They come here and work so hard at the jobs no one else wants to do. I know there are two sides to the story, and that part of the regulations are necessary to discourage drug lords and "terrorists" (that's a whole other pizza in itself, but I won't go there tonight), but it makes me sad when I go to work and suddenly one of them is gone, no explanation, just "oh, they went back to Mexico".

It's about time! This is, like, blogger.com/SLOW tonight. I thought I left Web sites that took forever to download in the '90s. Apparently not.

So, in reality, I've got about 43,000 words of a manuscript. But it's all bits and pieces. There are a few more stories to write, but then it's time for the editing, diving back into old memories with fresh eyes, and pulling it all together. And that's where the scary part begins. I've often felt that getting my work critiqued is hard, but it's so valuable and absolutely crucial that I've learned to take the criticism for what it is--NOT a criticism of me or my life. Some of the stuff is really painful. Right now I'm working on a tough piece about the first time I was called a n* by someone my own age. I wrote and wrote tonight, but I had to stop when I came to the most painful place. Not just b/c it was something that hurt me for a long time, but b/c I often feel like the challenge of conveying profound feelings is impossible. How do you convey the depth of shame? Loss of innocence? The feeling of not knowing who you are or where you came from, but hating it nonetheless?

So I really should be writing right now...it seems as though my ever-expanding obsession with MySpace is taking its toll. It provides the perfect distraction when I'm avoiding the necessary. I need to get over the anxieties that have held me captive for the past few weeks and, to quote Anne Lamott, "attack the white". My computer probably hates me for neglect right now, or at least my manuscript does. Shoot for 75,000 words, girl! "Um...can I get anywhere with 4,500?" We have a very high-maintenance relationship. I'm always trying to nurture the relationships in my life, including those with inanimate objects. One such relationship that is also under strain right now is the the one with my closet. We are fighting. I look at it with boredom and disgust every morning. Essentially, I've lost that lovin' feeling. Don't you hate it when you fall out of love? Maybe I'll hit the outlet malls this weekend in an attempt to rekindle the fire...

So here it is, finally. Amazing how I was so reluctant to begin something that could be an avenue for writing. I suppose I was afraid that using a blog would take away from my everyday writing. But often things will happen daily and my writer's radar will go off, wondering "Is this something I should write about? Is this a memoir?" So maybe if it isn't necessarily memoir worthy, it can be blog worthy! To my friends who have encouraged me to do this, thank you.

Which brings me to ponder how exciting it is to get to know people. I chatted with several coworkers yesterday and learned lots of things about them I didn't know before. And I was reminded again of how people walk in and out of your life, but they touch you nonetheless, and those times you walk alongside them are the moments I long to hold in the amber of words. Because we're all here for each other, really. Is that cheesy? Are you asleep yet?

I have to give a shout out now. My friend Richard Jordan, an incredible musician, came over last night and played live music for us. And now I'm obsessively listening to songs from his album. He's on MySpace Music--Richard Jordan. And, those of you who work with me, his music is on my iTunes list. Check him out, y'all. (My theory is that his song "The One" will be the first big hit!)

Here's another thing I was pondering yesterday as I was changing into workout clothes: why is it that all pants are way low-cut these days? I feel like every pair of pants I own are "crack" pants. Like I have to be careful that my crack doesn't hang out when I bend over. Which is annoying. Or maybe I just have an extraordinarily long crack. Well, most sources do indicate that I was a crack baby, but I've never had this problem until now! Does anyone else have this problem?