I like to torture myself, you see. And so yesterday, I went to the Berkeley Humane Society and pet the kitties. I pet so many kittes!!!!!!!!!! Weeeee! But then I came back to the cage where these boys were. They looked so scared and shy when I first looked at them, but when I turned to go, Issac mewed at me; a little purry-meow, softly, a few times. So, I got permission to close the door and open the cage, and they poured out of the cage and curled around me. Issac touches his nose to your lips when you make kissy-face. He also comes when you ask him to. Alexander likes to play with rainbow colored string-on-a-stick (see? they really are in love), and both of them let you pick them up and hold them and put your face in their fur. I love them so much, I would've adopted them on the spot, but I can't have kitties until I move. WAAAAAAaaaaaaah! 

R.I.P. Cat

My fishy died on Saturday of a horrible, disfiguring fungus. His name was Cat, and he was named after the creature that evolved from Lister's pregnant kitty after a million years on a radioactive space ship called Red Dwarf. I love my fishy. He was a beautiful goldfish, black with sparkley, golden belly scales, a flowing, luxurious tail, and big googley eyes. He was a gregarious fishy; he loved to swim up to the front of the tank and stare back at his visitors. When I would come in every morning to feed him, he'd be all perky and full of love. People who came to visit often noted how he was the sweetest, prettiest, most wonderful fishy they'd ever seen.
I miss my fishy.

I wish I had a picture...

So, my friends Siobhan and Danielle and I were driving down San Pablo, back to my house one evening after a shopping trip, when we saw the not uncommon sight of a sex-worker standing on the meridian. She was tall, gangly, and wearing jeans, a low-cut shirt and a parka to fend of the cold. Her hair was blond, stringy and hanging to her shoulders, and she looked like she'd been hooking for about ten to twenty years. She was also wearing a necklace. A gold chain, with a three-inch pendant, which lay askew on her chest. It was a heart of gold.

the Backlog...

So, the picture below represents only about a fifth of the backlog of things that I am updating in this office. There are probably about 40 files there. The guy I work under just doesn't do anything. He only has to work four hours a day, and yet he only manages about three work-related emails and a fourty-five minute cigarette break each day. He surfs the web, spends time clicking on all twelve of the "click here and we'll send money to the rainforest" websites, checks the weather in his home town...
The pile of paper below may all be trash, accidentally sent to our office. All he has to do is plug in a number off each 3-25 page clump, and then write a little note on the post-it that I've already attached that says, "yes" or "no". Then, we can throw out all of the "no" papers, and I can do the rest of the job. In three weeks, he has looked at 2. (I have done 100, plus five other things to each one.) Then, after whining about whatever comes to mind for 25 minutes on the clock, he goes home and takes a nap.
We have to share a desk most of the time, and it's covered in dust, piles of unorganized papers, his hair and his cat's hair.
YUUUUCK.
Man; I so deserve his job.

Sooo... I am working for a guy who is on half-time disability for unknown reasons. Really, I think he's a whiner who has burnt himself out enough to have physical reactions.