That's not a very cheerful opening paragraph, but that's only because a very annoying, busy day is staring me in the face. On the bright side, at least I don't have to work until two tomorrow, and I had an excellent weekend.

On Friday, I slept in (oh glorious sleep) and then fixed my bike seat again (sigh) and went out for a ride. It was gorgeous. After a leisurely hour (during which the seat broke again, but let's not speak of it) I hopped into a scalding hot shower. Mmm. Aching muscles and hot steam. With me so far?

Then I went and had my first professional massage ever. Someone I work with at the Bux is a masseuse. She did stuff with hot towels and hot stones and massage oil, and my thoughts were pretty much limited to, "Zzzzz." What a strangely intimate experience, but good lord, it felt fabulous. I was left feeling tremendously floppy. Floppy is good.

Then I went into the city to meet some Suspects for dinner (Jen Wade, Josh, Jenfu, pinkstinky) at a noodle place. Unfortunately, I had to take off before the movie (Secretary, which I totally want to see) because I had a lot of proofing work to do. I would love to end this story with "and then I took a long bubble bath" or "and then I had rockin' sex," but alas. "And then I did some proofreading" is all I got. It was still a good day.

Saturday was Boozecon V, which started at two in the afternoon and probably ended at two in the morning, although I wimped out slightly before then. I got to see most of the above people plus Lucy, Trish, Jared, Philip, Beth, Jeremy and Ian.

I will confine my "squee" to one paragraph. I'd never met Phillip before; he's a super-nice guy and he passed out kick-ass mix CDs. We conducted a lecture on Flirting 101. I got lime in my hair a lot of times. Ian looked up Jen Wade's skirt. We signed a naked postcard. Josh grabbed my ass. There was a lot of winking. Ian and I "walked to the car" which is apparently very scandalous. We saw Jesus at an Indian restaurant. We sang ABBA songs. We drank Bloody Marys. And mostly we just sat around and talked bullshit for ten hours.

Viva Boozecon!

I've come to the realization that everybody thinks I am moving back to L.A. for sure. I have almost decided to move somewhere in May (when the SAT is over and I can reasonably quit all my jobs) but that thought is almost as scary as it is exciting. I don't know what I'm going to do quite yet.

But one concerned reader was asking if I would end my journal when I moved. I didn't end my journal when I moved here, and I have no plans to end it if I move elsewhere. It's my only source of stability at times like these. But thank you for your concern, caring reader.

And now I have to start thinking about a set list for the poetry reading on Thursday. I think everyone who comes to the poetry reading (and if you're thinking of stopping by, yay, ask me for the details) should bring me a Valentine. Did I already institute that rule? Friends who are coming (both of you) are you paying attention? Va-len-tine.

I forgot how nervous I get when I have to go do a reading. Hopefully I will magically pull it off and make people entertained. I guess I will resort to my usual trick: get drunk, and read every poem with the word "cock" in it for maximum entertainment value.

And finally, I have a work story, proving that I do, indeed, work in Berkeley.

I am in the back room at the Bux, doing important managerial-type things, when the phone rings. "Hi, I'm looking for two women who should be sitting in your shop? I'm supposed to meet them there. They're a mother and a daughter. They both have similar teeth."

Similar teeth? That is the weirdest thing I've ever heard. So I ask, "Well, what are their names?" "Mary and Yolanda," is the answer. I am supposed to give them a message from the caller, who is running late.

I walk around the floor, and it's very crowded, but I don't see any women who look like they might be Mary and Yolanda, and I am not going to ask to see people's teeth. I walk back to the phone. "Sorry, I don't see anyone like that here." And then my caller says, "Oh. And... they happen to be... black."

I almost screamed with laughter. This woman is such a fucking politically correct hippie that she can't even tell me I am looking for two black women! She has to use the euphemism of "similar teeth" as if that is the more helpful identifying characteristic. And then she says it as if she's sorry to have noticed that they "happen to be black." It was just ridiculous.

Anyway, I told her no, I hadn't seen anybody matching the description, and hung up.

The punchline is that Mary and Yolanda did come into the store later, and they did both had horribly ugly teeth! So you can imply that your friends have hideous teeth, but god forbid you point out their race. My god. Only in Berkeley. I swear.