It's a problem.

Maybe I should talk myself through it. Here we go. One thing that needs immediate attention is that my laundry needs to go into the dryer. I washed all my sheets and pillowcases and comforter cover, and since I only have one set, it is important that they get dry so that I can go to sleep. I need to put them in the dryer, add a sheet of Downy Fabric Softener™ and set the timer. Okay. Now that my mental preparation is complete, I will go do that. Please hold.

Doo doo doo doo doo doo.

See, that's what I'm talking about. Putting my laundry in the dryer sounds simple, but there were a lot of steps. I had to remove the laundry that was in the dryer and bring it back here, and pile it into my "clean" laundry basket for future generations to fold and put away. Then I put the laundry in the dryer and so forth, but then there was an empty washing machine, and who could let that go to waste? In this house, it's almost never empty. So I went and gathered up all the rest of my laundry and started a new load. Phew. No wonder I was procrastinating. That took at least five, maybe six minutes.

That reminds me (in an extremely roundabout way too tedious to explain) that I had extremely vivid dreams last night. In one dream, I was making out with James Marsters. Man, I never have dreams like that, about my famous imaginary boyfriends. But since I met Jimmy, I have had two dreams about him! Yes! (Speaking of FIBs, Goran Visnjic was on my sister's set this week, and he smiled at her. Whimper. She called me when he was still right outside, to tell me about it. My sister enjoys torturing me.)

I had another dream that someone came into my room and rearranged all the furniture while I was asleep. There is nothing that bothers me more than people moving my stuff around. Because when I was growing up, no matter how many times I told my mom not to move around all my stuff, and no matter how many times she promised, she would come in periodically and move around all my stuff and I would throw a shit fit. You see, my mother was a liar. She lied to our faces all the time. She does it to this day and she sees nothing wrong with it. And as a result, I make it my policy never to lie.

Where the hell was I going with this? Anyway, I liked the James dream better.

Right, my to-do list. I mean, part of it is that it's already midnight. I got home at ten, ate some dinner, talked on the phone, did my paperwork for work, checked my e-mail, experimented with my hair (the same thing we do every night, Pinky), started this entry...

Hmm. When I say it like that, it seems like I did a lot. But all I can see is the negative space-- I have bills to pay. Articles to write. A whole folder full of Action Items. Where have all the flowers gone?

(Hee. I am non-sequitur girl tonight. Stand back! I think I'm going with it.)

I finally found the lotion, by the way. Working with coffee, the acid gets on my skin and does horrible things to my hands. I have been conducting an informal search for miracle lotion. I've found some good ones, but then Janis came into work with the lotion: Gardener's Hand Therapy from Crabtree & Evelyn. Just because it's British and costly doesn't make it wrong.

This stuff is a miracle. It smells phenomenal, and it makes my hands feel soft for hours. It is the lotion I have been searching for all my life. It is such stuff as dreams are made of. It's the shit.

In other news, remember Brother's Gold Teeth? There is an even better store now; it just opened near my house. It has a big neon sign in the window that says: "Gold Teeth, Mr. Bling Bling." Oh my god. If I am ever in the market for gold teeth (and who's to say what the future may bring) I am bypassing Brother's in favor of Mr. Bling Bling. That is the best name ever.

Oh! The other thing I was going to tell you was my weekend. I had an exciting new gastronomical (is that the right word? I know it's not "gastrointestinal" or "gastroenterogical") experience. Ian came to visit, and we went to his favorite Ethiopian restaurant in Berkeley. (One thing about Ian: he knows many places hereabouts that are interesting/cool/yummy/weird/fun. I should have made friends with him two years ago; I would know a lot of nifty places by now.)

I've never had Ethiopian food before. I thought about that scene from When Harry Met Sally ("We'll just load up two empty plates and go home!") and realized that was my only frame of reference. It's not like Nepalese food, which you can say is similar to Indian food. It's Ethiopian food, which is similar only to itself. (Or possibly food from other regions of Africa, but since I've not eaten those either, I have no idea.)

We got a sampler platter, which consisted of many different colored piles of food. There was a yellow pile, an orange pile, a green pile, a pile with carrots, and a runny stew-like pile. Then there was this strange bread with which to sop up or pick up the piles. (There is no silverware, so you eat with your hands.) I love culinary adventures. It was very good overall. I preferred some piles to others, but I will have no idea what to order next time because I don't remember what the piles were called.

That was actually the highlight of my weekend, I think. I slept off my karaoke-hangover for most of Saturday. Ian and I watched Buffy and had ice cream and played with his god-bird. (Which sounds like a euphemism, but I swear it's not.) And I worked a lot, as always. Why am I not independently wealthy? Why do none of my imaginary boyfriends send me cash? It is a puzzlement.

Mushroom Progress Report:

I went to the drugstore today and got a curling iron. (By the way, Walgreen's has a sorry selection of hair accoutrements. I think I may stop in Target tomorrow and pick up hair spray, which I completely forgot, and some large glittery butterflies or something fun.) I also got electric-pink cherry-flavored lipstick. It's way too bright; and I so don't care. It makes me happy, and I think it de-emphasizes the mushroom.

Early experimentation with the curling iron has yielded some positive results. Let me tell you that taking cute webcam photos of yourself is helpful, and makes you feel that your hair may be somewhat less crappy than you initially suspected.

Somewhat.