The cat has figured out that the battery on the happyMac is very warm. She now fights for position on my lap overlapping the battery when I'm using the computer on the couch. This means she occasionally moves the mouse or highlights text with her paw or nose. This can't be good. Also, positioning my wrists so I can type around the cat is not at all comforatble and probably will lead to carpal tunnel and/or tennis elbow. Hmmm.

I still think that working witha cat purring in your general vicinity is a good thing.

Among the many joys of freelancing is the fact that I can do what I want with my time, so long as I have a stellar finished product by the deadline. Today that meant I got to hang out with Lotti and Angie and little Alex and eat lunch and watch a hideous 70s horror movie called The Legacy. I actually remembered seeing this on TV. One scene scared the crap out of me as a child: A woman is swimming in a pool, underwater, and when she comes up for air -- she can't, there's something blocking the surface. She's trapped down there, and after pounding on the glass or whatever for a while, she drowns. Ack.

That part I remembered vividly. What I had forgotten was how glad you were when they finally did her in, so you wouldn't have to watch a synchronized-swimming wannabe do little dolphin kicks and shimmy under water for eight years. I started out chanting "Get out of the pool! Get out of the pool!" and in the end was chanting "Just kill her already!"

I'd also forgotten Sam Elliott parading around naked (although I did remember the shower scene that followed said parade) and the cheesy 70s "Ballad of The Legacy", as interpretted by Kiki Dee. Wowie. I'd also forgotten this major plot problem: I could buy that there were six people stupid enough to sign on for a Satanic pact thing, and I was almost ok with the whole reincarnation thing. But one of the major spooky bits was supposed to be that all the servants in this big old creepy English manor house either were or could turn into cats.

Think about it: Cat servants. Even if it was Satan himself running the house, I don't think that would fwork:

Satan: "Miss Witherspoon, bring me my tea!"
Miss Witherspoon, a Siamese: "Did you say something?"
Satan: "Yes, I told you to... are you walking away from me?
Miss Witherspoon: "Stalking at the moment. I'll get back to you when I need to be fed."
Satan: "Come back here. I know you hear me...."
Miss Witherspoon pointedly starts grooming
Satan: "I will not be ignored, you stupid...Oh! Not the crotch cleaning! Fine, I'll get my own damned tea."
Miss Witherspoon: "Go get me a catnip mouse while you're up. And thanks for warming this chair up for me."

It'd never fly.

In other news, I broke down and got my tickets to Vegas for December. I'll be crashing Lotti and John's Showgirls wedding. Yeah, baby, Vegas...

God dammit. Just lost my post.

Short version: Halloween, good. I didn't dress up, but did hand out candy to the very few trick-or-treaters who came to the door. Some of the kids in this neighborhood kind of stretch the trick-or-treating thing by not wearing discernable costumes. I tell them either to come back dressed up or tell me what their costume is. I like to think I'm forcing them to exercise their creativity and thinking-on-their-feet skills. (I'm sure they just think "Hell, I can tell this white chick I'm any damn thing and she'll give me chocolate! What an idiot!") This year, I had one girl say she was "the color blue" and a guy say he was a thug. Plus there was a pimp -- he didn't have the fabulous purple hat or suit or anything, but he did have some impressive gold chains. I let it go. A couple of years ago, I stumped a kid and he ran away. He came back an hour later with his face painted like a cat (I think with his mother's makeup). I gave him a double helping of chocolate.

This year it was all worthwhile when an absolutely adorable little boy in a pony costume came to the door. Awwwwww.

Now we just have to get rid of all the chocolate. Thank god Despain still works in an office -- otherwise, we'd be doomed.

Lotti reminded me that I have been incredibly remiss about relaying her part in the Car Crash saga. She was a total superstar -- she put up with me being hysterical on her phone, took care of the tow truck, picked me up and drove me to the body shop, and took me home. She even brought extra tissues. All this when she was barely awake. I'm telling you -- having unemployed friends is key. They're there for you when you need them.

So thank you, Lotti. You rawk.

My car insurance covers a rental car while my car is in the shop, so I'm driving around in a bright red Dodge Neon. I am incredibly paranoid about this car. I live in fear of it getting stolen, scratched, dinged up, anything while it is in my care. So I'm not using it much.

I did, however, drive it to Ang and Jordan's for the post-Homecoming-game get-together at their house. Then, since we were going out drinking, I left it there, in Evanston. Evanston is a long way way from my neighborhood, but I figured no problem, we're getting together from brunch at Brian and Diane's the next day, I can get Ang and Jordan to give me a lift back to their place and then just drive home. No problem.

Except, of course, that I was in full-on brain-fart mode on Sunday, and left for B&D's without the car keys. Doh.

When I drive to A&J's, it's a pretty straight shot down a major road. When no one is on the road and the lights are with me, I can get there in 20 minutes (although that almost never happens, and a 30- to 45-minute trip is more likely). To get there via public transport, I need to
(step 1) Take the bus to the El
(step 2) Take the El to the end of the line
(step 3) Transfer to another El line
(step 4) Take a bus up to their house. Except I couldn't figure out where to catch the bus when I hit Evanston, so I just ended up walking. Evanston is really, really pretty, and it was a nice walk, so it wasn't exactly a problem, but still.

This trip took me a bit more than three hours. Upon reaching A&J's, I woke up pur wee Angie, who had finally gotten both Alex and herself to sleep after a marathon session of baby crankiness. Sorry, Angie.

Is this working now?

*Whimper*

My head hurts.

10 year college reunion. Very drunck. Talking with a Northern Irish accent, thank you, Newton. At Brian and Diane's place. Probably too tawosted to post. Posting anyway. Did I mention I didn't drink in college? I didn't until I moved to Hong Kong. God, I'm a fucking lightweight. I took care of all the drunks in college, including Brian. Now they're taking care of me. That can't be a good sign, at 32. Still, I had a good night. Saw Jim Arndorfer again, but not Adam from South Africa or Rachel from film board. Maybe next time.

Note to self: Do not attempt to post went drunk. It's a very bad idea.