2-Oct-2006

Good news.  The jaw cancer appears to be in remission (when I announced this resolution, the Staff Writer proclaimed, "See!  I told you it was a zit."  Yes, I force my superiors to examine my various deformities.  I'm sooooo getting promoted).  Also, now that said tumor has disappeared, I seem to have lost five pounds.  Score two for me.  

My weekend started out (very typically, I might add) with a late Friday night at work, then home to That 70's Show and another restless night.  I have NOT been sleeping well.  I'm remembering all my dreams, waking up in the middle of the night, alternately freezing or burning up, then stubbing my toe on furniture I didn't remember I had while trying to turn the fan off.  Regardless, I woke up early Saturday to go hiking with Cliffhanger.  We went our standard 14.4 miles, she conjured up the bees, we did some rock-climbing, some repelling, she fell off the Hollywood sign and I drug her to safety... stop me if you're not believing any of this.  What we really did was hike 7.1 miles, then head to the Super Secret Brunch Spot.  "It's more crowded today than last time," Cliffhanger mused, looking down at me with one eyebrow raised.  "I didn't tell anyone!"  I promised.  She hrrmmpphhed.  Now, I'm guessing that what we get there (again, I can't reveal too much) has about 5,000 calories, all told.  It's a good thing she has one of those ped-o-me-hick-a-do-what's-its that tells how far we hiked, and how many calories she's burned (she's 5'8," I think, although I can't really see to the top of her, I'm 5'2" on a good day).  Saturday, she burned something like 750 calories, so, since I'm shorter, I'm guessing I burned about 749.  Right, guys?

Saturday evening, the Honeybee and I finally got to visit a psychic.  Her name was Savannah, and she talked like Rosie Perez on downers.  Now, I haven't been to a psychic in about five years.  And that time, the Honeybee was also with me, sitting at my feet, listening to my reading.  What she was not doing that last time, was sitting at my feet, affirming, "Sing it, Sister!" every time the psychic said something about me with which she agreed.  Faux-sie Perez told me, basically, that my career would soar, I'd have lots of money, but that I was cold and unaccepting, so my personal life would remain in shambles unless I let go of my fear.  Um, since when is my personal life in shambles?  And since when am I supposed to give a shit about my personal life if I have enough money for Tivo and takeout?  You know what an exciting personal life gets you, Faux-sie?  Distraction.  Disappointment.  And possibly an STD.  But enough about my reading... it was my turn to snicker when she told the Honeybee, "You have a very important decision to make.  And you'll make it.  And it will affect the rest of your life.  Possibly well.  Possibly badly."  Hahahahaha!  I'm soooo glad I didn't get THAT reading.  Give me wealth and a fulfilling career and loneliness any day.

Sunday, the Tennis Pro and I headed out to see Hollywoodland.  I had been writing all afternoon, so when he called to tell me he was downstairs, I realized I was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt from Dad's motorcycle gang.  Unacceptable movie-watching attire.  So I changed into jeans and a sweater.  Fast forward to Act I of the movie, when I'm sitting next to the Tennis Pro, thinking, "I'm enjoying the movie, but it's also good to see him.  And he's the perfect movie-watching partner.  He doesn't hog the armrest.  He's quiet.  He doesn't look at me to see how I'm feeling."  And then I realize... my sweater is on inside out.  I tell the Tennis Pro.  "Really?"  he says, clearly pretending not to have noticed.  And I kind of love him for that.  But then, he comes out with, "Nobody cares."  Um, clearly all the people in the darkened theater were looking at my inside-out sweater, as opposed to hot Robin Tunney (and, by the way, our Co-Producer, whose birthday it is today, told me I looked like her.  So thanks for that blatant lie.  It was sweet of you.  And Happy Birthday!  Liar...). 

Then, the Tennis Pro dropped me off at home, where the Designated Driver all but shoved me into her car to go pick up the Hottie.  We had dinner at Crazy Fish, which is one of my favorite spots.  As per usual, the service sucked, and I always miss The Pony when I'm there, cause he introduced me to it, but it was lovely to see the Hottie.  Our waitress was a very bitter woman, and therefore not inclined to strike up a conversation with said Hottie, so we actually got to enjoy our dinner in peace. 

This morning, I coupled a gray skirt from Express's 1997 fall collection with a green turtleneck, then slapped on my black Guess heels, and looked at myself in the mirror.  And I thought to myself, I look hot today.  I don't often have thoughts like that, especially not when I'm wearing cheesy 90s clothing with my hair in a bun.  But today, I just looked happy.  Possibly because my personal life is in shambles, but at least now I know.  Possibly because I was looking forward to going to work.  Possibly because I went the entire weekend without a single panic attack.  Well, if you don't count the whole "My sweater's on Inside-out" shenanigan... But you guys won't tell anyone about that, will you?