Some asshole stole our tips Saturday night-- broke into the locker where we keep them and stole our $500 for the week. Of course it happened this week of all weeks, when I really need the fifty bucks. Of course it did. And I'm not the only one who needs that fifty bucks, and I'm not the only one who's bitter.

I had a dream last night about Anthony Stewart Head. He was seven feet tall and he wanted to give me his phone number. He couldn't stop giggling.

Yet another example of how notoriously unobservant I am. I got my car back on Thursday morning. I drove to Alamo and back that day. On Friday, I drove to Emeryville and back. On Saturday, I drove to Mountain View, San Francisco and back. It wasn't until yesterday, when I was coming home from Danville, that I realized my rear view mirror had mysteriously reappeared on my windshield. The mirror that fell off in June. (I had a moment like, "Wait, did I dream that I didn't have a rearview mirror?") I guess when they fixed the brakes, they put the mirror back on as a bonus. Which was damn decent of them, even if I didn't figure it out for 200 miles or so.

Bunnies kind of creep me out, the way you can feel their bones right under their skin. You know?

Speaking of small furry pets (and this is probably the only segue this entry will even have) I may have neglected to announce the sad demise of Pussycow, Bruce's chinchilla. A whole group of us purchased Pussycow as a housewarming gift (I painted a Pussycow painting to represent Pussycow, and then Bruce went and picked him out). "Save a nickel, save a dime, Pussycow." We'll miss you.

I miss my wildlife calendars. I donate money to the World Wildlife Fund and Nature Conservancy, and they send me calendars every year. But they didn't follow me to my new address (and since I haven't received any solicitations, I have not donated). Therefore, I have no wildlife calendars at present, and it makes me vaguely wistful.

I am tired of scrupulous honesty. I think some judicious lying might work out a whole lot better.

How is it possible that David Bowie keeps on getting sexier? The idea of him ever looking like an old man pains me. I want him to get increasingly more beautiful and stay that way. Except without dying, ever. How do we work this?

I left a party early on Saturday. I couldn't bear the thought of introducing myself to one more new person, couldn't bring myself to be charming. I thought, "Well, I don't need any more friends..." and I left. Next thing I knew, I was home. I was exhausted, with no recollection of how I had gotten there. I think I did that micro-sleep thing.

I wonder sometimes what people think of me. I think people see me as both better and worse than I really am. I go back and forth myself, seeing myself as a loveable person one day and as a selfish hell bitch the next. Does anybody really know me? Do I?

The corollary being, of course, how well do I know anybody? Do I try hard enough to know them, or do I wait for them to reveal themselves to me?

I worked all three of my jobs yesterday. Woke up and drove to a tutoring appointment, did hours and hours of proofreading, and mopped the floors during a closing shift at Starbucks. I made $229.

Why do random sitcom lines from years ago get stuck in my head? Like, "Ay! You! Gimme back my gold watch!" They're not funny, relevant, or meaningful in any way. They are just there.

I have my 365 days ago link, but no 730 days ago link. It was 730 days ago, give or take, that my grandmother died. In one sense, I have resigned myself to it as the natural order of things. In another sense, there is deep sadness and anger and grief. In the most surface sense, there are happy memories and a million reminders of her.

I talked to my grandfather in a dream the other night. Did I tell you this already? He told me that ambition is overrated. I am still thinking about that one.

Scrambled eggs with seasoned salt are delicious. In related news, a mini-golf ball in your favorite bright color can be quite happymaking. In other related news, I am grateful to Michael for not spilling the dirt that he did, indeed, get on me. And as for miniature golf, we totally let him win.

Nine-and-a-half-hours of sleep, and I had a devil of a time waking up. Maybe my new bed is just a little too comfortable.

I finally saw a car that I've been waiting to see-- one with both a Jesus fish and a Darwin fish. I knew they were out there, those people who don't find science and religion mutually incompatible. (Read that entry by the way; it's fabulous.)

I need to make an eye doctor appointment with my new insurance. I have no idea how to go about this, but I am now reduced to wearing glasses, and although they are somewhat cute in photographs, they are not cute on my face..

I feel fat and oily and awful today. I ate too much chocolate today. I think I have PMS. (No!! Ya think?) I need a bike ride; I am trying to convince myself to go. I need an afternoon of slacking too, though. After the bike ride! (Nope, the pep talk is not working.)

I am so tired of all the negativity in my life right now. So much directed my way-- and emanating from me!-- that it's beginning to weigh on me. I tried to turn my frown upside down today-- Who cares if everything is going wrong? Have a latte! Worked like a charm... at least my customers seemed charmed by me today.

Am I putting the wrong kind of energy out there, are my biorhythms off, or is that just the way life goes?