Archive for January, 2011

Did you miss me?

I fell off the public transportation wagon for a while. Actually, I fell of the travel wagon. I think that may have contributed to my lack of blog posts lately. I miss the free time I get when I’m on a train or a plane.

So tonight, I’m headed to the city. I biked to the train station. I locked up my bike extra tight in hopes that it is still there when I get home. There is a much nicer bike down the rack—blue, shiny, and new. I’m sure any potential thief would steal that rather than my drab green, cobwebbed, decade-and-a-half-year-old bike. My bike helmet is not well secured to the bike, but if a guy really wants to steal a pink helmet, then maybe he needs it more than me.

And now my train has arrived. On time. May the adventure begin!

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Open Secrets: WikiLeaks, War and American Diplomacy: Complete and Expanded Coverage from The New York Times

This morning, I was sucked into a lengthy article by Bill Keller, the executive editor of The New York Times. He wrote about his experience dealing with Assange and Wikileaks. The saying that ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ has once again been proven true. As Keller says,

I came to think of Julian Assange as a character from a Stieg Larsson thriller — a man who could figure either as hero or villain in one of the megaselling Swedish novels that mix hacker counterculture, high-level conspiracy and sex as both recreation and violation.

The tale that Keller weaves—of power struggles, secret meetings, and unlikely alliances—could pass as Larsson’s missing fourth novel if it wasn’t missing the characteristic strong female lead and ongoing theme of mental and physical abuse against women. The article is just an excerpt from the introduction of, “Open Secrets: WikiLeaks, War and American Diplomacy: Complete and Expanded Coverage from The New York Times.” I loved Larsson’s books so much that I’m going to have to read this real life thriller available at

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Screaming myself awake

This time I’m going to tell you about it so that maybe I can start a new dream when I go back to sleep. First I have to tell you I’ve had a splitting headache since work. I stupidly did an exercise video which didn’t help, but my headache had lessened when I went to bed. No, I didn’t take anything for it, hoping it would just go away on its own. I know better. So I just went to where I keep the aspirin, hidden in the most inconvenient place in the cabinet. And all I seem to have is Aleve, which I use occasionally for muscle pain. So I took one, hoping to alleviate both my headache and my sore muscles. Unrelated, Pablo the Cat just sneezed. I think he and Mitzy have colds or allergies or something.

So, the dream. I think it is the same one I’ve screamed about before, but I’m probably wrong. I’m in my childhood home. The doors and windows don’t lock well. I wake up to find my ex-boyfriend trying to break in. I’m trying to scream in the dream, but I can’t. He’s there to steal the mushrooms I’ve gathered. He’s in. I finally can scream in the dream and I won’t stop. I’m trying to hit him with something, but he blocks it and laughs at my futile attempts. I won’t tell him where I hid the mushrooms. So he pretends to leave and I fall for it. I check on my mushrooms which I’ve hidden in a Nettipot. It looks like an oversized Winnie the Pooh honey pot, but with a steel core inside the ceramic. My ex has broken in again. I’m trying to whack him with the steel-cored Nettipot cover. And I’m screaming. Only this time I screamed out loud in real life and woke myself up. I fear my neighbors will think I’m the girl who cried wolf.

I can taste the Aleve now as it dissolves in my stomach. I only took one with a glass of water because I don’t like the taste. Like baking soda. I sure hope this works.

I not only misspelled neti pot, but it is not at all what I meant it to be in my dream. A neti pot is used for irrigation of the nasal passages. In the dream, I had actually named my honeypot a nettipot, however, my honeypot in the dream looked like a gigantic Winnie the Pooh honeypot, but I really was using it as a physical representation of a security honeypot, which is a way to detect and deflect unauthorized usage in a computing system.

While you are making fun of my steel and ceramic misnamed honeypot, lets remember that this is a dream coming from the same girl who though that NSBindings had made her pregnant. Sad part is, I don’t know who leaked the words neti pot and honeypot into my dream.

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Kindness of strangers

I was sore from my run yesterday, and thus I postulated that Perl was also sore, so I took her out for a four mile walk.

A mile into our walk, I started to warm up, so I took off my hoodie and tied it around my waist. Perl doubled back to me, but I didn’t know why.

As we reached the next corner, a man came from around the fence and said,”Good morning.” I thought he was just being polite. A nice looking guy within ten years of my age, out on a walk.

While I was stunned by this anomaly I had just discovered—it was like discovering a new galaxy—he spoke again. “I think you dropped your [blargle].”

“My what?” I wasn’t expecting a conversation, but if I were, I was prepares for statements like, “What a beautiful day,” or “You have a cute dog,” or the often heard, “You’re hot, wanna make out?”. Okay, that last one never gets said, but I am prepared for it. However, the words uttered out of his mouth were a non sequitor, so I was unprepared for comprehension.

“Your keys. I think you dropped your keys back there.”

I thought for a moment. I’d put my keys in my hoodie. I’d just taken off my hoodie. I patted the pockets of my jeans and my keys were no where to be felt.

“Thank you!” I turned and walked back to where my keys were laying on the ground.

By the time I turned back around, The Anomoly had retreated back behind the fence and out of sight. It turns out he wasn’t a new galaxy, but he was a shooting star.

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This is the California I signed up for!

This morning I woke up and accidentally fell into my running clothes. I decided Perl and I could do two mile. It was a perfect-for-running fifty degrees with very few cars on the road. Halfway through, we took a detour to a park I’ve been wanting to check out. It has a dirt trail, so we ran it twice and went back to our usual route. Four miles later, we were back at home.

For stretching, I cleaned the house. Laundry, dishes, the litter box and vacuuming. And then I showered in my fantastic new bathroom.

I stopped off at work for a couple hours to see if I could track down a bug I’ve been chasing. I curled up on my red, Naugahyde couch (made from free-range, grass-fed Naugas in Naugatuck, CT), basking in the sun while balancing my Mac Book Air precariously on my knees.

When I left the office, the temperature had climbed to almost seventy, so I lowered Myrtle’s top and we went for a spin. People were Sunday driving and cutting me off, but I didn’t care. The wind tussled my hair, I could see the clouds spread thinly through the sky to soften the sun, and I could smell the freshly cut lawns and ice cream shop.

At home, I opened all the doors and windows wide. I let Mitsy run out the front door as if she were getting away with a heist, then I took her and Perl out back to roll in the grass and play in the sun. It is absolutely spectacular outside!

At one point, it was awfully quiet behind me. I turned to find a standoff. Between the trees on the right is a big, gray cat.

We will have to go inside soon so I can get ready for an 80’s party. I think the best I can do is 80’s preppy. I’ve managed to lose all the crazy neon. Luckily, I bought a new pair of RayBans this year!

Quintessential California.

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Mean girl

I’ve noticed that if I am in one medium (email, twitter, text, blog) and I want to [giggle | bitch | complain] about someone else, I switch to a different medium to send my comments to a compassionate friend. I do this because I’m afraid that if I stay in the same medium, I will accidentally contact the person I’m bitching about.

Anyone else, or are you all going to try to convince me you are nice and I’m the only Mean Girl?

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Hair porn results

I think Wilson just cut another ten years off my age. ;-)

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Dreams that rock my world

Last night seemed almost absent of sleep. I had to set my alarm clock for 6:15 am so I could bring The Archivist to the airport. Knowing that my alarm clock would go off, I woke every hour to check the time. It also meant I dreamt almost constantly.

At 3 am, I considered blogging about it, but decided not to interrupt my already failed night. So I don’t remember much now, but there were two that stuck around.

The first was that I took a very large elevator with two other people. As we began to descend, an earthquake broke out. The building swayed so much that it almost tipped over. The elevator started sliding upward. The building straightened and we slid to the bottom. On exiting the elevator, I swore I would never get in one again. I woke up in a panic.

The second dream involved an astronaut who hijacked a Soviet-era space capsule. We were desperately trying to find it. Eventually, we discovered the charred remains of it and the pilot. We weren’t convinced that the human charcoal was that of the astronaut who’d stolen it, so we were sending it out for DNA testing. This dream too trailed off into me waking up to check the clock.

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Hair porn day!

I love hair porn day! Here is the before picture. Wish me luck!

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Location:S Murphy Ave,Sunnyvale,United States

Dream time!

I found a large, light-brown and white, fluffy, lost dog in Portland, Maine. Instead of asking around there, I drove up to my home town, two and a half hours away. Once at camp, I asked the neighbor if she knew who’s dog it was. She had a couple guys over to do yard work, one of which was a coworker from Cali, the others were my brothers. They were eating their organic lunches around an old oil drum and Brother K was playing banjo. I wondered when he had learned because he was amazing!

My coworker drew me a map on a napkin of where the dog might live. Then Sparkles asked if I’d checked the tags on the collar. No! So I ran back to read the tags. There were so many. He’d had all of his vaccines and more. And yes, he lived down the street. Strange that my coworker knew where the dog lived and that I found the dog 150 miles from home.

I went back behind the garage to get the map from them, but they all had cleaned up the mess and gone back to work. How would I find the place without my Coworker’s map?

I brought the dog home, then Sparkles was driving me around in his minvan. We almost had an accident as two cars sped through a red light. Sparkles was unfazed and was pointing around and still talking about how all the industries are leaving Hartford. It was looking pretty desolate.

I was in a restaurant, trying to find a table for a date with a Secret Asian Man. We’d had a good date before, but the restaurant was packed this time. I was told we could have the worst table in the house that would probably get us covered in beer and worse. I said yes.

The table was upstairs, crowded between two other tables. I didn’t know how we would get covered in beer unless there was some aquatics show from here. But the table was horrible. Not only was it tippy, but my chair was so short that I could barely see over the table. As part of sitting there, they brought me a Mac Book Pro that constantly repeated the Windows startup chimes. Over and over again. I just turned off the volume, closed it, and set it on the empty table next to us. No reason to ruin an already fucked up dinner.

Secret Asian Man showed up late and we ate. Then he skipped out just in time for the bill. I was pretty pissed when I got back to my hotel, but I arrived to find stacks and stacks of toys, and the whole staff from the magazine in the Girl With The Dragon Tattoo books (not the movie. I replaced them all with my own actors). They were writing a Christmas gift issue, but they all had too much eggnog as there were doors flung open with people groping each other and making out inside. They were constantly trading partners, and everyone was so touchy feely, I was so lost. I was there to help, but I kept getting dragged from room to room. Just when I thought it was my turn to make out with some hot guy, the grumpy guy in the room next to us opened the door and yelled at us to quiet down, so we moved to another room.

In that enormous room was Kalle Blomkvist, surrounded by toys and a printing press, hard at work, rereading copy before it was printed. I stood beside him silently for a moment, then reached down and started tracing the lines on the inside of his palm. He grumbled something about me being difficult, then he slowly took my hand. I’d found what I was looking for.

At this point, I couldn’t stop tossing and turning and knew that if I tried to get back into the same dream, I’d be somewhere different, so I decided to wake up at 6 am instead.

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