Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Christmas Special

Today, I received an email from "Santa's Slave" asking me if I wanted to get laid on Christmas. No, I really don't, but thanks for the offer. I find that at this time of year, it takes too much effort to go through all the trouble of being a top. I mean, gathering the toys, making the time, let alone thinking of creative ways to use lumps of coal is enough to make my head swim.

Instead what I really want is to see Joel McHale at GSR. And...I think I might be able to swing it. Todd is going to give me half the cost of the ticket, and I am fairly certain I can come up with the other half, as I just received a rebate in the mail reimbursing me for a club membership fee that was done away with.

So, I must apologize to Santa's Slave, for instead of filling up her "stocking" with lumps of coal, I must spend my time with Joel McHale. But, if Santa's Slave really needs it, I'm sure there's a willing reindeer out there somewhere.

Thursday, December 18, 2008


Tonight before class began, one of the owners of the store said she had a funny story about a couple who came in earlier. When the girls asked if they could help the couple find anything, the man said "Yes, we are looking for books on Wick."

"Wick? Are you sure?"

"Yes," replied the man. "Wick."

"Perhaps you mean Wicca? Or maybe witch?"

"No...Wick. My wife, she's Druish and wants a book on Wick."

"That's funny," muttered another customer standing by. "She doesn't look Druish."

We had a good laugh at the couples' expense and decided that maybe it was time to design a Druish tradition. I'm sure it would involve lots of magical latkes and eight days of candle magic in December. As long as I could still wear a Yarmulke in a skyclad ritual, I suppose I'd be happy.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008


After sleeping until 9 a.m. four days in a row, and staying in my pajamas until late afternoon, it's official: I'm depressed. I have no energy. I feel like a zombie and I don't want to do anything. Not even drink. And when I can't even muster enough energy to open a bottle of wine, I know I'm in trouble.

The problem is, I'm not sure what to do about it. When I lived with Todd, I couldn't afford to be depressed or experience massive amounts of time spent in Inertia Land. No matter what happened while I was living there, I got up every day at a respectable time, let the dogs out, made some coffee, and got myself moving. Most days, I went for a walk in the morning. This involved getting dressed...something that seems foreign to me now. The other day when it snowed? I went outside - twice - and shoveled in my pajamas and fleece robe cover. The only reason I didn't wear my slippers was because I didn't want them to get wet.

Today is a better day than yesterday. I got up earlier than usual (okay, it was because Schmutzy threw up a pile of slimy tinsel on the side of the bed, but I still got up). After cleaning it all up, I took a bath and got dressed. Okay, so I'm wearing sweats (one level up from jammies), but I am dressed. And clean. That's progress, right?

What isn't progress is the fact that my resume remains unwritten. I have these wonderful books full of expert guidance, and here I sit surrounded by them with absolutely no desire to actually open them.

How does one shake a bad case of inertia? It obviously takes more than a bath and donning a pair of sweats...although the bath is probably a step in the right direction.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Hi, My Name is PJammy

My friend Carmen told me that she believes any one who drinks alone at home is an alcoholic. If that's the case, then I'm definitely an alcoholic. Cheers to me.

Last Wednesday, I was laid off. One of the first things I did (after crying) was to call my parents to inform them of my bad news. Before we said good-bye, my mom and my dad both encouraged me to run a bath and drink a glass (or two) of wine to settle down. Does this make them enablers or just wise? I'm not sure what Carmen would say to that; I chose to believe they were wise, and so I followed their advice.

After opening up a bottle of wine and running a bath, I do admit that I felt a little calmer. Carmen might say numb, but you know, she's not writing this, is she?

One week and two bottles of wine later, I am in a slightly better head space. I realize that the job itself sucked the big red one. And while of course I hate that I'm without a job now, when the economy is in such bad shape, the constant heartburn I had has gone away. So has the feeling of dread and the fear of making a fatal mistake.

The atmosphere at QuadNet was not a good one; in fact, my faux boyfriend kept telling me the atmosphere was toxic and I should get out as soon as possible. But, the steady paycheck and solid benefits kept me there. Or rather, my fear of being without kept me there. When I think of it now, I had so much fear in me (fear of being without a job, fear of making a mistake, fear of not being liked, fear of not fitting in) that I am surprised that it took a layoff for me to hit the bottle. I probably should have been imbibing all along; it might have made the ride easier.

During the last two days, I received calls from friends wishing me well, validating my worth, and sending their love. After two such calls just today, I find myself drinking water and feeling better about my future. The bottle of wine I opened last night remains untouched. The wine did it's job; now it's time for me to do mine.

I think it's time to cork the bottle and get on to the next step...whatever that might be.

Thursday, November 13, 2008


As class was winding down tonight, my instructor told us that the store would be hosting a Yule Ball this year. The ball will be a fancy affair...very dressy, and everyone must wear a mask. It's a masquerade ball! The kind depicted in movies. I found myself getting excited.

And then it hit me that I wanted a date for this event.

A date. A live actual date. Yikes. I haven't had a date in, oh....well, too long. (Or is it not long enough? I can never keep it straight.)

I immediately knew who I wanted as my date, too. The only problem? I've only seen this guy twice; once he waited on me when I was buying something at the booth he was manning at PPD. The other time in passing at the psychic fair.

In other words, I don't know him.

Okay, so this guy is obviously not a viable candidate, as I didn't write down his license plate number or get his name so I can stalk him like I do most guys. (Kidding. Kidding!)

But seriously, back to the ball. I must go, and I must have a date. And come on...seriously, who wouldn't want to go? I mean, there are masks!

Can she do it? Can she have a date before Yule? Only my hairdresser in the sky knows for sure.

Saturday, November 01, 2008

Trading Spaces

When I was living in my own home in California, I used to dream of places. And not just the place, but me living in the place. Often, I dreamt of the same place. One place seemed to be in Portland, Oregon. It was a raised home - by that, I mean the home was on top of the garage. The home front had huge windows, and the home also had a tree which grew inside the house.

The dreams were fairly boring...nothing really ever happened in the dreams, or at least nothing that I remembered come morning. The only part of the dream that stood out was the place itself...the details of the home, how I felt in the home, and an overwhelming desire to go back to sleep so I could go back to the home.

Of all the places I dreamt of, I would say that the home in Oregon was one of my favorites. When I moved to Reno, though, the dreams stopped. For a while.

When it became clear that Todd and I were not going to be married, I started dreaming of places again. I often dreamt about the place in Oregon, but then sometimes I would dream of other places. Each place felt nice...the decor was usually welcoming, the homes bright and spacious.

It wasn't until I moved into my new place that the dreams stopped...well, that is, until a couple of months ago.

Oddly, the place I dream about now is really kind of dilapidated. It has some nice rooms, but it has an odd-shaped basement, and one must go down some crooked stairs and walk through an angular hallway to get to it. The basement is both enchanting and off-putting. The enchantment comes from the fact that it seems to be a fairly secret room, and could be made into anything I wanted it to become. The off-putting part comes from the fact that it is difficult to get to, and in quite a state of disrepair.

I do not understand why I'm having these dreams again. I know that I started having the dreams in California about the time I was contemplating leaving. And then the dreams started up again when it became clear that it was time to move out of Todd's home. Now, though, I'm not sure why I'm having them.

Even if I wanted to move (and honestly, I do think about it sometimes), I could not afford to do so now. I have a home, and as we all know, homes are not selling these days. I feel stuck in Reno...and maybe that's why I'm having the dreams. I'm stuck, and the only way I can get away is to dream myself away.

If that's the case, though, why in the world am I dreaming of a dilapidated home? I would much rather dream of a two-story home in Oregon, with walls of windows and a tree that grows inside the house. I don't care if it rains...I'd take rain over a broken-down home any day.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Spanking Good Time

"Come on, spank me! You know you want to!" This was said to me by a very young man at the 20 500 East Bar last night. The guy had obviously had a lot to drink...but then again, so did my friends and I. So what did I do? I spanked him.

He then proffered his buttocks to every woman at the table, but was denied by the rest. So, he came back to me, and I obliged him once, twice, three times again. Before I knew it, his friend came over and begged for a spanking. For some reason, it was different with this guy...and so I did not. It turned out my instincts were correct; the guy was married, and his wife was no where to be seen. He told one of the women at the table that it was okay...his wife was into it and wouldn't mind. Despite his best efforts to sway at least one of us to give him a spanking, we all denied him service and he went on his merry way.

Shortly after Married Guy With A Yen For A Spanking trotted back to his loud, drunk friends, the real entertainment began. The DJ was given his leave, and in his place was Chris, a one-man band. He started off with some disco, and we were soon all on the floor.

While we were grooving, the young man who had received a spanking, came up to me and said "This is for you!" He danced in front of me, and then he did the splits. Within seconds, he was back on his feet, beer still in his hand, and he danced away with a great big smile on his face.

Not to be outdone, the Married Guy With A Yen For Spanking danced over to the floor. He got another friend to join him, and they started a line dance. He shimmied, he shook, and a line of people joined up right behind him. When dared to do the splits, he did...he split off the dance floor and his merry band of drunkards joined him back at the table.

For the rest of the evening, we danced to the one-man band's music. Once in a while, one of the drunken young men would join us and beg for a spanking. When told a spanking would be theirs if they could replicate the splits move of their friend, they would sheepishly leave the dance floor. When we left, they were still there...drinking beer, making jokes, and toasting their friend, the spankee.

Monday, August 25, 2008


Tonight's plan was to stop by Todd's house to pick up a video, and then head home. When I pulled up in front of the house, I knew instantly something was wrong. The window of my old office had something in the window...I knew someone had been in it, but wasn't prepared for what was going to hit me when I walked through the door.

Todd greeted me at the door, and he said "I have a note here for you." I said "What does the note say? That you love me?" He said "Well, it does say that, but it's mostly an apology."

An apology? For what?

It turns out that he let Danielle have free reign in the space that used to be my office. She disconnected the VCR, unhooked the TV, and in other words, wreaked havoc in the space that was once mine.

Todd PROMISED me he would let me know before he ever let Danielle in there. He said if worse came to worse (scheduling wise) he would at least give me a week's notice, so I could remove whatever I didn't want a stranger to rifle through.

He did not.

Instead, some woman I don't even know went through EVERYTHING that was mine that was still left at the house. And, she wasn't even careful with any of it. My stuff is piled all over the room...books thrown on the bed, heaven knows what stuffed into garbage bags, and most of my furniture gone.

Words can't even begin to describe the amount of anger I feel. Anger that my stuff was just thrown around, as if it didn't matter. Anger that Todd didn't follow through on his promise. Anger at Danielle for being so careless with my things.

When I expressed my surprise and anger, Todd said "Well, it's been almost a year." And in fairness, it has. However, the times I have expressed wanting to come over to pack things up, he has either said he has had plans, or didn't want me there that particular weekend, or had seduced me away from packing to spend time with him instead.

Even in the last couple of weeks, I've expressed an interest in packing up. However, he has things going on, and didn't really want me there. So, this sudden desire to expunge me from his home has come as quite a surprise.

In my life, Todd was the one person I felt as if I could trust to stick to his word. Now that he hasn't, I feel as I can't trust anyone. I'm lost and angry and...and I guess a little depressed.

I cried all the way home, and cried some more at home. I hate that Danielle went through my things. I hated seeing everything piled and tossed around so carelessly. But most of all, I am most disappointed in Todd and his carelessness with his promise to me.

This will take a long time to recover from.


I have a "friend" whom I meet periodically for a "latte." She has a latte addiction, and so she always assumes that when I meet her, I'll have one, too. I usually opt for herbal tea instead, because Dr. Atkins wouldn't approve of the latte.

She contacted me earlier this week to meet for a latte at Borders. I agreed to meet her there at 2 p.m. on Sunday. However, the plumber didn't leave until until just after two, so while he was playing around with my swamp cooler, I busied myself looking for her phone number. I found it and called; the number was disconnected.

What to do? I was pretty sure she gave me her cell number once upon a time, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I crossed my fingers and hoped I'd find her still at Borders by the time I got there.

When I arrived, I hurried to the cafe, just in case she was still there sipping her latte. No luck. I took a look around the store, starting in metaphysical (her usual hangout) and worked my way to sci-fi (her next favorite place to look). I didn't see her.

I found myself actually breathing a sigh of relief that I couldn't find her. Oh I knew she'd be mad at me for not being on time, but on the other hand she's one of those "friends" who isn't really. I am not sure why I feel so obligated to her, but it probably has something to do with my sense of loyalty. She has never done anything egregious; she just isn't the best friend a girl could have.

I ran some errands and emailed her when I got home. Sure enough, the reply was short and not-so-sweet. I could tell she was furious, and actually seemed to accuse me of not looking hard enough for her.

I feel slightly awful...but on the other hand, again slightly relieved. I figure it'll be another month or so before she wants to meet for a latte...if ever. Could this be over for good? One can only hope.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Hot and Sticky, Part 2

I waited and waited and waited and the plumber never did show up yesterday to fix my swamp cooler. So, me and the cats got naked in our little sweat lodge. We sat around cross-legged as we passed the peace pipe and tried not to curse the plumber for forgetting us.

This morning I called again, and the guy was apologetic. He sent someone over right away. Apparently he wasn't too apologetic, because he still charged me full price. Still, it was nice to feel the cold air coming out of the cooler.

As I started getting ready to go meet a friend, I heard a "kerplunk" sound come from the direction of the cooler. All of a sudden, the pump was noisy and erratic. I went outside to have a look see. Water was still coming through, and the pump seemed to be working, so I went on my merry way.

As I was putting on the finishing touches in the bathroom, I started to feel hot. And sweaty. And not in a good way. I went into the office to check the swamp cooler. Uh oh. No more cool air. Just warm outside air.

I called the plumbing company, and got my friend on the phone again. He said he'd send someone right over. And right over it was...someone was at my house within 15 minutes. He checked the swamp cooler, and for some unexplained reason, he took my garden hose and started "washing" the unit. Water came spraying into my office, and even though I've cleaned up, I still am finding watery dirt specks on the furniture.

A few minutes later, he told me it was fixed. Turns out the spigot that turns on the water to the pump had been turned off. (And no, I didn't do it!)

Tonight me and the cats are almost too cool, but believe me, we're not complaining. It's so much easier to get warm than it is cool. Of course, now that the temperature is more comfortable, the cats have forgotten the peace pipe ritual and are back to chasing each other around the house, and sparring face-to-face. Don't get me wrong; I love the cool. But I sure do miss the quiet!

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Hot and Sticky

t's 95 degrees outside, and so of course my swamp cooler picked today to stop working. Well, wait...I'm lying. It works...the motor comes on, the fan blows...but the pump isn't working. So instead of nice, cool air flowing into the house, hot, dry Nevada air blasted through the house with glee.

I called the plumber, and he actually remembered me. He asked if I could wait until Monday. As I choked on my tongue, he said "Well, wait...it is pretty hot outside. We'll send someone over today." He took down my address and phone number, then said "Hang in there; we have a couple of people ahead of you."

That was four hours ago. I have not yet received a call, and the house is an oven (just call me Biscuit, butter me and eat me!). The cats are panting, and much too hot to bug one another. Big Chief does yell at me occasionally, though, asking me where that nice, cool air went to.

An hour ago, the regularly scheduled afternoon breeze started up, so I opened all the windows. However, unlike many afternoons, this time the breeze decided it was too tired to flow for long, and died down.

So here I am, hot, sticky and shiny, waiting for the phone to ring with the good news that the plumber is on the way. I'm glued to my chair, but not because I'm entertained. Because my pants are wet with sweat.

Aren't I attractive?

I could have...

Today I went walking with a friend. We normally walk at Rancho San Rafael, but decided to try Idylwild Park for a change of pace.

As I was driving to meet her, I thought again about how I haven't bumped into my old boss from Acme Consulting Company. And after I had that thought, another thought pushed itself to the surface: "Piepa, you've been thinking about this on and off for a week...you are about to bump into her. Somewhere. Some place. Get ready."

The next thing I knew, a great song came on the radio and I completely forgot to get ready to bump into her.

I parked, and soon after my friend pulled up. I wanted to go eastward, but she felt west was better, so off we went. About a half mile into the walk, I saw two women approaching us, and one of them looked really familiar.

Oh no. It couldn't be...could it? But it was. Thankfully, the path was really narrow, so I just continued my conversation with my friend as I moved to the right to get behind her so the ladies could pass on the left. I didn't look...just kept walking and talking.

I could feel her eyes on me, but she didn't say anything and in seconds we were out of eye sight of one another. When there was a lapse in the conversation about 10 minutes later, I told my friend about my feeling, and how I was pretty sure that was my old boss I passed. I said I didn't want to look too closely, but was pretty sure it was her.

We walked and walked and finally came to a turning around point. We headed east this time, and kept talking. Soon, though, I saw two ladies approaching us again, and I thought "Oh gawd...they turned around too..." This time the path was wider, so even though I kept my eyes on my friend during our conversation, I didn't have to move over.

My friend said "She was staring at you! It must have been her." I said "Ye gads...she is one person I had hoped never to bump into."

I could have said "Hi." I could have at least acknowledged that I knew her in a past life. But I didn't.

Strangely, I don't even feel badly about it...I just feel thankful that when it did happen, I was with a friend.

Monday, August 04, 2008

Ass Backwards

You know you're having a bad day when you go to the ladies room and discover that your underwear is on inside out...and has been all day long.

Friday, August 01, 2008

My Favorite Time of Year

It's August 1st, and tonight is the official pre-start of my favorite event in Reno: Hot August Nights. For many it's Artown, which goes on during the whole month of July. Now, I want to like Artown, I really do. I like to think of myself as an artsy person. But this year, just as last, I have plans to take full advantage of Artown, and I end up not having gone to one event.

That won't be true of Hot August Nights.

I love old cars. I suppose I get that from my dad, who was a mechanic. But just not a mechanic...he could see a car and know whether or not it was a 48 or 49 model. He knew the nuances and changes in cars through each incarnation. Probably not any more; most cars these days look the same, which I HATE. I despise how modern cars are so uniform in look and color and lack originality.

Tonight, though, I'll drive my rather ordinary looking car with vanity plates down to The Summit for the Show and Shine. I can't wait! I can't explain why, but I love the old cars. I have since I was a teen, and even though I don't know a Model T from a Cadillac, I am pulled to these events every year.

So, if you're in Reno and see a lone woman walking around admiring the cars with a look of lust on her face, that's me. Feel free to say hi, because you won't see me at an event again until next August!

Thursday, July 31, 2008

A Night of Rest?

I was so looking forward to last night. It was my first night "in" in quite awhile. I had all kinds of plans...watch a few episodes of Big Love (from Netflix). Make a nice dinner. Catch up on some reading. Play with my new tarot cards. But of course, none of that came to fruition.

For one, I'm still getting used to my new hours. At my previous place of employment, I had flexible hours. However, at my new job it's strictly 8-5. So, after work I found myself with a "must do" errand, and by the time I found what I was looking for, and got home, it was after 6 p.m.

That nice dinner? Oh, I still made it...but it took so long to make that I actually had dinner while I was making it. So, after the dish was done baking, I slapped some aluminum foil on it and stuck it in the refrigerator for...tonight? No time. Tomorrow? Won't be home. Breakfast on Saturday? Perhaps.

When dinner was finished cooking, I sat down to watch Big Love. But wait...I couldn't relax. There was too much cat hair and too many cat toys around for it to be relaxing. So, I cleared all the toys off the floor, grabbed the vacuum and went at it.

Thirty minutes later, I thought I could finally relax. But then I remembered the reason for my errand: buying an answering machine so my phone wouldn't ring and ring and ring and ring when I wasn't able to answer it. So, I sat down and set the thing up. Thirty minutes later I thought it might be time to finally relax...

Of course I was wrong. One of the cats threw up, so I had to get off the couch to clean that up. By then, it was 9 p.m. and I was exhausted. I made sure the cats had food, water, and then I went off to bed.

I had hoped I would pass out...unfortunately, I got up three separate times last night. But that's another story for another time...

Guess I'll have to wait until next Wednesday to have another night of relaxation. Maybe next then I'll really be able to rest.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

I Must Be Evil

About two weeks ago, I met a bunch of local bloggers from the singles site I belong to. I had a great time with everyone who showed up. However, I will admit that there were two guys to whom I found myself slightly attracted to. One was clearly in like with someone else at the event, and the other guy put me into the friend category.

Well, today I found out that the bloom is already off the new romance and this guy is back on the market. The minute I heard, I felt something move in my pants. Huh? What are my nether regions thinking? After all, this guy was going out with a kind of friend of mine.

Okay, so we're not close. And we only met each other once. But we have talked in the chat room and we do comment on each other's blogs, so it seems like we're friends. However, for all intents and purposes and of course, we are friends.

But are we the kind of friends who must honor the Girlfriend Law? Would it be okay for me to get involved with this guy? Or only my pants? Or neither?

I have no idea what the honorable thing to do is. I only know that my pants are kind of happy right now.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Roses and Wine

On Friday night, I received a dozen red roses. I know what you're thinking: "Piepa has someone on the hook." Well...I don't. But, since I'm an equal opportunity receiver, I'll take flowers from just about anyone who's willing to give them to me.

Unfortunately for me, my cats love roses so I had to bring them to work. And, once they were on my desk I had to field a bevy of questions ("Who are they from?") and also smile politely whenever someone said "Oh, you must have been a good girl this weekend." News flash: I'm always a good girl except when out on a date. Or driving a car.

I digress...

Flowers on my desk always cheer me up. Always. So much so that some weeks I'll forgo a grocery item or two so I can buy flowers instead. This week started out rather brutally, as I'm still in training and on Monday I had trouble "getting it" as they say. I hung in there as long as possible, and even though the flowers helped to take the edge off, I knew I needed wine that night to really relax me.

The good news: I was supposed to meet a bunch of my ex co-workers for free drinks at GSR. As soon as the whistle blew at 5 p.m., I was out like a light and headed for GSR. I kept thinking about how good it would be to sit down with old friends, talk about work, catch up on their lives, and drink free wine.

When I got to the 20 500 East Bar, I took a quick walk around and did not see any of my friends. Figuring I was the first one there, I saddled up to the bar to get my free drink. I think the bartender really hates giving out freebies, because he made me wait. And wait. And wait. I finally got my wine and snagged a table.

And waited some more. And some more. And some more.

Finally, I dialed up the co-workers for whom I had numbers. Lany: no answer. Carmen: no answer. Christine...wait, she wasn't going anyway, so I didn't call. Played my portable Yahtzee game. Still no friends. Had I been stood up?

After I finished my glass of wine, I decided to go home. The brave part of me wanted to go to the cafe and grab a bite. The lost soul part of me wanted to retreat to the safety of my home. The lost soul won, and home I went.

When I got home, I debated about opening up a bottle of wine. I bought an extraordinary wine from Cost Plus, and was saving it for a special occasion. Wasn't being depressed that my friends stood me up special? While I was debating this in my head, my phone rang.

I heard "Hey girlfriend..." and was instantly warmed by Lany's voice. Turns out I had the night wrong; our get-together isn't until next Monday night. Strangely, I felt instantly better knowing I was a bonehead, as it meant that I wasn't stood up. Or forgotten.

After the phone call the only thing I needed was some chamomile tea. I put the bottle of wine away for a special occasion...

Back to top

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Well Groomed

I received a rather odd compliment from someone recently. He told me I was rather well groomed.

Now, like most girls I would hope to get compliments like "Gee you're hot" or "hubba hubba, I like your legs." And personally, I prefer compliments about my personality and/or how enjoyable I am to be around. So, being told I am well groomed, while obviously a compliment, has left me feeling completely flummoxed.

I suppose I should stop chewing on that and just enjoy it. Instead, I feel as if I must now work harder to become memorable for something other than my washing ritual and mad ironing skillz.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Claim Jumper Friends

If I've said it once, I've said it way too many times: Claim Jumper is probably my most favorite restaurant EVER. The reasons are varied...the service is almost always top notch, the food is plentiful and good, and I just like being there.

That said, my love of Claim Jumper is well known to those that know me and love me. And even those who don't love me. (But I won't focus on them now...) So, my boss, who won't be at work on my last day, took me to lunch today at Claim Jumper. He also invited Lany (my next-door cube neighbor) along.

These are two of my most favorite people at Acme Cardiac Safety Services. Mike was a great teacher, and really showed me the ropes when I first got to Covance. Lany also taught me a lot about how to succeed at my job. I'll be sad to leave them behind.

We had a nice time at Claim Jumper. We talked about work, people at work, next steps, the grief we felt over the lay off, cars, kittens, children, and the Independence Day. At the end of the meal, my boss insisted on buying me a brownie (something I normally don't indulge in, as Dr. Atkins would slap my hand if he knew what I was eating) to go. Frosted brownies are one of my favorite indulgences, so I was touched that he remembered and got me one.

I have two more days left at work: tomorrow and Monday. Today before I left, I packed some of my items up and as I placed them in a box I found myself tearing up. I wish I could have stayed at Acme. The people there were some of the best I'd ever worked with. I will really miss them (and my paycheck).

Hopefully I'll fit in at QuadNet and make new friends and be as highly esteemed as I am at Acme. I know one thing, though: Acme will always have a place in my heart, even after its doors are closed for good.

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Sexy Red Shoes

Unlike most girls, I am not a shoe hound. I don't get excited about shoes, I don't spend much money on shoes, and I prefer flats to heels. Every once in awhile, though, I feel the need to get a little sexy with my footwear. Saturday was one of those days.

I have a few outfits which have been begging me to buy them a pair of red heeled sandals. So, feeling a bit restless and getting tired of hearing my outfits complain, I left the house Saturday afternoon to look for a pair. I only had forty minutes, so I went to my one of my favorite stores hoping I would find what I wanted.

I did.

Almost as soon as I walked in, I saw a pair of 3-inch red heeled strappy sandals. There was only one pair available...and they were a half size too small. I tried them on anyway, and they actually fit.

Wait. This was too good to be true. Not believing that they fit, I started walking up and down the aisle in the shoes, thinking that they would begin to hurt. They did not. A couple of women told me the shoes were sexy and that I should buy them. So I did.

I couldn't wait to wear them. On Monday, I pulled out one of my outfits and showed them the new shoes. My outfit was happy. I got ready for work, and on the way out the door I put on my new shoes. The total effect was marvelous.

But after 9 hours of work wearing those shoes, my feet started to cry. What looked like sexy straps to the average eye were actually small leather torture devices. I couldn't wait to take them off.

When I got home, I couldn't get them off fast enough. As soon as the shoes came off, I noticed my feet were bruised and chafed where the straps were. I soaked my feet in water, while Big Chief played on the edge of the tub.

Today my feet are not so sexy looking and still bear the marks of Monday's all-day torture session. It's been said that beauty hurts, and I have to agree.

It's back to Easy Spirits for me...at least until my feet heel and my outfits start whining at me again.

Monday, June 30, 2008


Has anyone out there seen this TV show yet? I just saw the first six episodes this weekend, thanks to Netflix. All I can say is "Whew...where's the cold shower?"

I rented it simply because, as a fan of the X-Files, I felt an unexplainable need to see David Duchovny play a part other than Mulder. I had no idea what the show was about...so imagine my surprise when I discovered the show seems to be about sex, sex, and more sex. And not just sex, but sex of many different varieties: The brown kind, the dominance kind, the awkward kind, and the regular kind.

I think somewhere in there the show is kind of about relationships and mid-life crisis, but it's hard to tell amidst all the sex and talk about sex and naked bits.

Still, I did enjoy the first six episodes and eagerly await the next six. After all, if you can't have it, watch it!

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Morning Coffee

This morning started out pretty much like any other. The first alarm buzzed and I turned it off. The second alarm went off and I turned it off. A half hour later, Big Chief Many Toes decided to scream into my right ear canal, so I stumbled out of bed and headed for the kitchen, where I proceeded to make my morning cup of coffee.

A few short minutes later, I was curled up on the couch drinking my coffee while watching Big Chief run around the living room chasing all things visible and invisible. In-between sips, I rested the cup on my thigh while I petted my poor little asmathic Schmutzy.

At some point, I heard a noisy, slurping sound. "Gee, one of the cats is really enjoying their water" was my first thought. And then I saw Big Chief climbing up my curtains, and of course Schmutzy was right next to me...and then I realized that the slurping sounded awfully close...I turned to my coffee, and saw Purrscilla's little head bobbing up and down into my cup.

I figured there wasn't any use to stopping her now...so I just let her have a caffeine fix in peace. About five minutes later, a normally shy and skittish Purrscilla was running around the living room, teasing Big Chief, jumping on stray toys, and bouncing off walls. As for me, I tossed the coffee and headed for the shower while Purrscilla continued to run off her caffeine buzz in the living room.

Monday, June 23, 2008

A New Kind of Catnip

Every morning, I grab a plastic bag on my way to the litter pans. I then scoop out the unwanted items from the pans and throw them in the plastic bag. After this is done, I tie the bag closed, place the bag on the floor by the side door, with the intention of taking it outside to the garbage can on my way to work.

This morning my routine didn't vary. I cleaned out the litter pans, put the bag on the floor by the side door, and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. I then packed my lunch, got my stuff together, grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

I bent down to pick up the bag...but the bag wasn't there. Wait. I could have SWORN I cleaned out the litter pans...I run to the office. Yep. Litter plans are waste-free. I look in the office to see if I left the bag in there. Nope. Could I have taken it into the bathroom? Nope.


Then I remember that I heard a strange rustling when I was washing my hands...almost like the sound of a plastic bag being played with by a cat. Or perhaps a kitten. "Big Chief!" No response. I start looking around for the bag (which you would think would be easy, since I have very little furniture). No bag. I look under the bed. One cat, no bag.

I look behind the washer and dryer. No bag. I look in my closet. No bag. I go back out to the front room and look around. Wait. There's a bulge underneath the slipcover of the couch. I move the slipcover and there it is...the bag of crap.

Big Chief was watching me, and as soon as I grabbed it, he thought it was play time again. He ran towards me just as I was lifting myself and the bag up. He jumped, with 12 front toes aimed at the bag. He missed and landed back on the ground.

I took the bag and did what I should have probably done in the first place: took it immediately outside to the garbage bin.

Now that I realize Big Chief thinks a bag full of crap is as much fun to play with as a catnip toy, I'll have to be more mindful of where I put the bag in the morning, lest it end up wedged in my couch again.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Martinis, Old Men and Confessions to the Boss

Much to my delight, GSR is having a special during the month of June at the 20 500 East bar: free drinks, including six different martinis, to ladies on Mon-Thurs nights.

My boss scheduled a ladies night for this past Wednesday. Originally five people RSVP'd, but you know how that goes...one backed out to have sex, another backed out because she couldn't get a babysitter, and then we were left with three (plus boss).

I was the first to arrive, and was surprised to see the bar was almost full. Thanks to local advertising, the word finally got out and the bar was overrun with women. I found a table that would seat all of us, and grabbed it. A waitress came over and took my order.

Next to arrive was my boss, and next my cube neighbor. No one else showed up. My boss ordered appetizers, and we all ordered martinis (me, one more, everyone else their first!).
Martinis seem to have a way of loosening lips. Before I knew it, my boss was telling us a funny drinking story about my cube-mate's boss. I spilled some of my own secrets, and then my boss spilled another one. By the time my boss and I had downed three martinis, the party was underway.

As soon as the free drinks hour ended, the cocktail waitresses literally disappeared. We hung out, as a "band" was setting up. (Said band consisted of one guy and many synthetic instruments.) We decided to see this guy perform, so we stayed.

The guy was actually pretty good. He started out with some swing music, and people got up on the dance floor and danced. By people, I mean senior citizens. After the second dance, a senior citizen approached our table and asked if one of us "ladies" would care to dance. We all said no, but my no was different. I said "Thanks, but I don't know how to swing." Wrong response, because he said he could teach me. Next thing I knew, Grandpa had grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor.

I will admit, he was a good teacher. We danced the length of two songs, then he led me back to my table and grabbed my boss and dragged her to the dance floor. (Gramps was pretty strong.) She did a much better job than I did, but I guess that's why she gets paid the big bucks.

Strangely, the music man decided to transition from swing to Pink Floyd. The dance floor was totally empty...for about two minutes. Then an old couple courageously hit the dance floor and waltzed to Pink Floyd. It was mesmerizing to watch. (Well, keep in mind mesmerization was easy after a few martinis.)

After the Pink Floyd debacle, the performer decided it was time to get us all back on the dance floor. He asked for requests. I shouted "Disco!" while the rest of the crowd shouted "Country!" He pointed at me, laughed and said "Disco?" Then he played the opening bars of Play That Funky Music to tease me, then launched into some old Merle Haggerd song. DAMN HIM. The good news is that for the rest of the night he flirted with me, but I think only because I was the only one in the crowd to actually put money into his tip jar.

After exchanging several winks and teases for disco music, the AV system crapped out. Even a squad of four geeky AV guys (one was replete in full outback regalia... from khaki shorts to floppy hat) could not put it together again. That was our cue to leave.

Even though it was now ten p.m., my boss insisted on treating me to dinner at Fin Fish. Hey, who am I to deny the boss this great pleasure in watching me eat? So off to Fin Fish we went. I ordered the crab "cakes" (actually, it ended up being only one cake; apparently the menu had a typo), and she had tuna tartare. She offered to buy me a glass of wine, and I know this is so unlike me but I declined. I mean, it was now about 10:30, and if I had any hope of getting home in one piece the last thing I needed to do was down another glass of alcohol so close to the time I needed to get in my car and find my way home.

I couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to her...alone. It's usually pretty easy to talk and joke with the boss when everyone else is around, but when it's mano-a-mano it can be a bit intimidating.

When all was said and done, I finally got home around 11:30 p.m. Way too late, because I had a job interview the next day and a skills test to take. But that's a story for another day...

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Real Girls Eat Meat

PETA is on the rampage again, this time slamming poor little Jessica Simpson for wearing a T-shirt with the saying "Real Girls Eat Meat" emblazoned on the front. I have to admit, I've never been a big fan of little Jess...that is, until today. Now I say "Rock on, blondie!"

Ya see, real girls do eat meat. I should know. I'm a real girl and yes, I eat meat. Pretty much every day. And you know, none of that sissy ground turkey for me. Nope. Hot dogs (Hebrew National, of course!), hamburgers, steak, and dare I say it, salami are consistently on my daily menus.

So grab a bottle of wine and a chunk of salami...I'll gladly meet you and show you how a real girl eats her meat!

Thursday, June 12, 2008

The Pleasure of My Own Bed

I spearhead a group here in Reno made up of magical ladies over "a certain age." Last night we met at Rancho San Rafael park for a picnic and a walk around the labyrinth.

The weather was perfect. We spread out our blankets underneath the trees, placed all our food offerings in the center, and before eating, one of the ladies read to us a passage from the book "Simple Abundance" about Midsummer.

It was an enjoyable evening, but we felt incomplete in a sense as one of our members who had RSVP'd did not show up. We knew she had planned on joining us after her plane arrived, so at first we just thought she was late...then we realized she probably had jet lag and decided against a night out with friends.

We were half right...today I was greeted with an email from Marilen stating that she had come down with an awful cold, so was not able to make our get together last night. Then she said "So, I'm going to take a bath, put on some PJ's and take great pleasure in my own bed."

Ahhh...that sentence really hit home with me. There is nothing I like better than the pleasure of my own bed (and, of course pajamas and a bath!). Women's magazine after women's magazine constantly states the importance of making one's bedroom a haven. And even though my house is under furnished and still needs work, I have made every effort to make my bedroom a place I enjoy being. It's the only room in my house that is fully furnished.

I spent some extra money on a quality bed. I added luxurious sheets and down pillows, and a comforter that's both comfortable and beautiful. I keep the room picked up and clean. It's my haven.

I love the time I spend in my bed. Oh sure, you can insert all your own lurid reasons here as to why I love the pleasure of my own, but the truth is I love it simply because it is my own. It feels safe, it feels comfortable, and it feels welcoming.

It's one pleasure I wouldn't give away for anything in the world.

Friday, June 06, 2008


Last week, a friend from work and I went to the Riverside to see young@heart. The movie is a documentary that takes place during a 7-week period in the lives of several of the members of the Young at Heart Chorus in New England.

The movie is both hilarious and touching.

While the chorus has many members, the documentary focused on just a few. I think I would have liked to have gotten to "know" more of the members, but I understand that focusing on only a few would translate into a tighter story.

After the movie, my friend and I went to Ultra Divine Lounge for a drink and some food. Normally we spend time after a movie catching up with one another. Not this time. Nope, this time we could only talk about the movie.

It was one of the most inspiring movies I've seen in ages. I loved watching these very senior senior citizens perform. But not only that, I loved seeing the vibrancy and joy they had in their later years. I also loved the openness in which they embraced songs that were new to them, like "Fix You" by Coldplay and "I want to be sedated" by the Ramones.

I hope that I'm still singing when I'm 83. And I hope that when you plug in your hearing aid, you can hear me. I'm sure I'll sound wonderful.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Too Good for TV

Yesterday, Adam Carolla had Larry Miller on his radio show (again...kind of getting tired of the dude, but whatev). I tuned in when they were in the middle of playing some sort of "pick between the two evils" game. The idea was this: Larry was to take a long road trip, and was to pick a passenger from two offered. Adam would outline these two fake people's personalities, and Larry had to pick one and give his reason why he picked that person over the other.

One of the choices was a guy who thought Face Off was the best movie ever or a guy who proclaimed loudly and proudly that he didn't own a TV. Larry picked the Face Off guy. His reason: at least he knew this guy liked something. He added that he never really trusted people who said they didn't own a TV and/or hadn't watched TV in ages. And this is where Adam Carolla then inserted his own wildly hilarious rant about the people who don't watch TV.

One of the things he said was you can't trust 'em. They're lying. Because, as you begin to peel the layers, you find that the person who says they don't watch TV do watch it. Supposedly occasionally. "Oh, I watch the news, and sometimes PBS. Oh and I like to watch the playoffs..." and, and, and... Before you know it, it turns out that the person actually does watch TV.

As for the person who doesn't own a TV, well probe enough and often times you'll find that person watches stuff online.

I agree with Adam Carolla: I do not trust people who deny they watch TV. They normally have this holier-than-thou attitude to begin with. The noises they make indicate that TV is of the devil. It's a time waster. It promotes violence. It (fill in the blank with the latest scourge to scour the earth). They then eventually turn the conversation back over to themselves. Since there is no TV in their life, they are more productive. Happier. Their minds are not polluted. They are free thinkers and out-of-the-box problem solvers. In other words, they are better than the rest of us who do watch TV.

Good for them.

I, too, was without a TV for approximately 6 years. I was in the Army, and there just wasn't time for TV. Not really. But I had no problem admitting that I missed it. Oh sure, my evenings were filled up easily. GI parties. Uniform pressings. Boot shinings. Letters to my parents (yes, the old fashioned way, using pen on paper). But sure, I missed my TV.

After several years without having a TV, one night I received a knock on my barrack's door. I opened it to find a guy I had only recently met holding a TV. He said "I cannot believe you don't have a TV! Here, take mine. I use my roommate's - his is in color!" He handed me his precious TV, and I don't believe I've been without one since.

I'm sure it is a time waster. But you know, some times I Iike to waste time (another not so popular past time that I am admitting to). After a day of listening to whining co-workers, finding a buttload of bills in my mailbox, and passing by 17 gas stations proudly displaying gas for $4.17 a gallon, I need to veg out. To waste some time.

Only, I don't actually think of it as time wasted. I think of it as time spent with some of my favorite Losties. Or finding out what Allison Dubois is dreaming about now. Or maybe I'm watching a story that was ripped from the headlines, and seeing how these particular detectives solve it. Or laughing at Jim's latest prank on Dwight.

Yes, some may look at it as the scourge of the earth. I look at it as entertainment, ghetto style.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

It's Tuesday...Do You Know Where My Bed Is?

I. Need. Sleep.

I haven't slept in three nights straight. As soon as I turn out the light, Big Chief Many Toes thinks it's time to play. He pounces on the bed. He chases his tail. He jumps on my stomach. He meows at nothing, then jumps in the air and falls off the bed. Because the floor is not such a fun place to be, he climbs back up on the bed and jumps on my feet. When he's tired of jumping, he starts combing my hair, because he thinks I'm hiding a nipple in my head.

After awhile, I think "Enough already," so I pick him up, put him outside of the bedroom, and close the door. Good idea in theory. In practice it does not work. Why? Because then he sits outside my bedroom door and cries and cries and cries. I feel sorry for him, and open the door and of course he's like "Yay! I get to jump on the bed some more!"

I'm subsisting on coffee and thirty minute naps. I don't know how much longer I can take it!

It is fun, though, to have a kitten in the house (fun, that is, when he's not climbing up my beautiful curtains or hanging by a claw from my brand new quilt). I love listening to him purr, and watching him check things out. And of course, I really love kissing his little toes...all 24 of them.

I may not be getting any sleep, but life indeed is good.

Big Chief Many Toes

I did it. I got a new kitty.

Yeah, well, those who know me know I probably would not be able to say "no" when I went to go see the kitty. And I forget who said this, but yes, I suspect this was a backyard breeder. The good news is that these people did take good care of the cats and kittens... the vet and vet assistant both commented that the kitten was obviously well taken care of.

But I digress...I met the kitten on Friday afternoon, fell in love with his many toes, got the lady to sign a contract guaranteeing that my money would be refunded if the cat had FIV (she wouldn't agree to signing anything else but that, so I took what I could get). Then kitty and I made haste to the vet's office, where he obtained a clean bill of health and many kisses from strangers. Apparently, I am not the only person in the world who wanted to kiss his little toes.

The vet also stated that he's rare in the fact that he also has bones in his many toes. She said often times polydactyl kittens have an extra pad or an extra claw, but not the attached bones...however my little kitty does.

He is acclimatizing well to his new surroundings. My other two cats are scared of him... about time. They both terrorized my other cats when they came into the household. However, this little kitten is leaving them both alone, yet they are still frightened of him. Sissies.

Now that I have a new cat, I realize I probably won't be getting a dog. I'm a little sad about that...but I still dog sit occasionally, so it's not like my life is dogless.

Why look at the time...I must leave now to go kiss toes. It's my hourly duty!

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


I believe in a lot of hogwash, but numerology isn't one of them. Every time someone offers to "numerologe" me, I politely say no. However, some people don't take no for an answer and do it anyway.

My numerology (i.e. "Life Path") number is six. I am nothing like what a "six" is supposed to be. One of the main attributes of that is that I'm supposedly a nurturer. Well, ask anyone who knows me and they would say "PJammy? A nurturer? You've got to be kidding me!" Then they would qualify the statement: "Well, she's a good pet mom, but um, I can't see her mothering anything other than an animal."

The description goes on to say that the number six signifies great responsibility and indicates that one is the main caretaker in the family. Again, a big no go for me.

Supposedly I'm also idealistic and a humanatarian. It's also my main role to serve others. Um, wrong again.

Anyway, for years I did not believe in numerology and then it dawned on me...I was actually supposed to be born on a different date. (I refused to come out of the womb, so I was taken by C-section). "Ah HA!" I said. And I figured out what my real numerology number was supposed to be, based on my original birthdate.

Guess what? It's still a six. My theory was blown to hell, and so was any potential for me to believe in numerology.

No wonder I don't gamble...I just don't "get" numbers!

Nothing But Toes

Today, I was perusing Craig's List looking at available pets. I have been toying with the idea of getting a dog for the longest time...but even though it's a dog I'm after, I often find myself looking at the cats.

In sorting through the list and passing by entry after entry for pits and lizards, I saw this little gem "POLYDACTYL KITTENS." When I saw there was an image attached, I clicked the link and saw the MOST adorable little multi-toed kitten. I just wanted to grab its little feet and kiss 'em.

I am SO tempted to call...but I keep saying "They're probably gone. The listing is three days old. What am I going to do with another cat anyway?"

Oh yes. That's right. I'm gonna kiss its little toes all day long. That's what I'll do with another cat!

Tuesday, May 27, 2008


As I may have mentioned, I've been laid off. Technically, I will more than likely be kept on the payroll through August 29th. However, for all intents and purposes, I no longer have a job.

I've been applying fast and furiously for any opening in the local area that I am even remotely qualified for. In the six months since I've been applying, I've only been called in for two interviews. Strangely, those two interviews were almost back-to-back.

I heard back from the first one about a week ago: Thank you for taking the time to interview with us for the position, but we found someone with stronger credentials to fill the position. That's okay, I thought, I still have one more on the table.

As of one hour ago, I no longer have that option on the table. Yes, I received the dreaded "thank you, but no thank you" letter. I'm afraid I am now in panic mode. Six months of applying, only two bites...and no job offer.

I'm on the verge of tears...this is the worst time to be looking for a job. Why oh why did I buy a place? If I had not, I could have moved for a job. Now I'm stuck...and could potentially lose my house if I don't get a job soon.

I have never been this scared for my future before in my life.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Memorial Day Weekend

Ahhh, sweet mother of holiday weekends! Memorial Day. Three days to rest, relax, and recover. However, my veteran status doesn't allow me to forget what the weekend is really about: honoring those who fought for our country.

In the 80's, I was stationed at Fort Drum, NY - a little (then) reserve post right outside of Watertown. The folks in the neighboring towns were very patriotic. And so, every year Fort Drum was asked to provide soldiers for the memorial service held in town.

My very first year, I was called to be on the Color Guard. I was supposed to feel honored to be chosen; after all, only the "best" were sent to represent Ft. Drum. Instead, I was pissed. I had just had CQ the weekend before, and now I was going to lose another weekend because I had duty. It just wasn't fair!

The four of us "chosen" ones spent time after hours practicing. And again I was pissed. I could be having fun with my friends, but NOOooooo, I had to hang out with these three lumps and practice our moves.

Finally, Memorial Day came. We had to wear our Class A uniforms, so of course we were inspected before we went. We passed. Then we were driven to a cemetery. We were too far away to hear the speech that was given. On cue, we marched in and did the 21-Gun Salute. In less than 30 minutes, the whole ceremony was over.

Or so we thought.

After the ceremony, all sorts of people flocked over to us. "Thank you so much for being here," they said over and over. "We so appreciate you using your holiday to help us." We were thanked for our service. For our unselfishness. For so many things. Do I even need to mention that I felt guilty for not wanting to be there?

I was overcome with pride when I began to talk to the townspeople, many of which were veterans themselves. They treated us to doughnuts and then we were back on our way to Drum to enjoy the rest of the day, sans uniform.

In the years that followed, I ended up being tasked for that duty several more times. The only difference? I stopped complaining.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008


I've been thinking a lot about karma lately. I've never really believed in the concept, however many people I associate with do, and so I've come to accept some aspects of karma. For example, I believe that if someone is constantly unfriendly, underhanded, and/or unpleasant, that someone has a sort of black cloud around them that strangers can pick up on. On the other hand, people who are friendly, nurturing and/or open more than likely have sunlight surrounding them that strangers can pick up on.

But, do I believe that for every bad deed someone does, it comes back? Not really. And, I'm supposed to, being a witch and all. "The karmic power of three..." I've seen it gone ignored too many times to believe it exists. I think of it more as an innocuous scare tactic than a serious concept to grab on to.

This weekend, as I was driving home from Carson City, I tuned into a local talk radio show. The news segment announced Ted Kennedy's seizure, which led into Tammy Bruce's show. She first stated that she normally said nothing when bad things (of a health nature) happened to bad people, however confessed that she was chomping at the bit to comment on Ted Kennedy's health problem.

She talked about Mary Jo, etc...and I started to tune her out to make room for my own musings. This man, who caused the death of a young girl, got away scot free. Not only that, but he sure seems to have led a charmed life. Rich. Powerful. He has not seemed to suffer one iota for causing the death of Mary Jo Kopechne, and he received no real punishment for leaving the scene of the accident.

So where is this karma we're all supposed to be so scared of? Certainly not this brain tumor. Even so-called good people have health problems. Basically, this man who caused someone's death, not to mention all the jerky, untoward things he has done as senator, has lead a rich, full life.

While I don't wish him ill will, I find it very difficult to feel any sort of sympathy for his predicament. In fact (and Lord forgive me), I'm actually looking forward to a senate that is finally Kennedy-free. It just should not have happened this way...this is not karmic justice. It's just life.

Friday, May 16, 2008


On March 27th, I had to make the difficult decision of having my companion of 14 years put to sleep. It was probably the hardest decision I've made as an adult - to have a creature I loved have her life taken from her.

While I have two other cats, my connection to Lucy was much different, and almost spiritual. See, years ago I was attacked. It was hard for me to live on my own right after that, so I moved in with a guy friend ("I have guns! I'll protect you!"), and lived with roommates for years after that.

When I moved back to California, I was able to afford a home of my own. However, I was a bit apprehensive to live on my own again. It was then through a series of synchronistic events that Lucy came to me. She and I moved into my home on the same day. The first week, I never saw Lucy during the day. But every night when I turned off the light to go to sleep, she would jump up on the bed and sleep by my feet.

I named her Lucy after Lucy Coe on General Hospital. (Lucy Coe used to eat and eat and eat and never gained weight...it was the same for my Lucy the first few months I had her.) It was my concern for her well-being that prevented me from being frightened to live on my own again.

Lucy was a great cat. She never jumped up on counters, damaged my furniture, or clawed me. She was always gentle, and seemed to ask permission to even sit on my lap. If I ever cried, she would just come sit in my lap until I was done. She had a very sweet spirit, and everyone who met her liked her, even people who would normally say "I don't like cats..." would end up liking Lucy.

Of course I miss her. I light a candle for her every Thursday night, but last night was different because I saw her again. It was during class, and we were all instructed to pull a crystal from a velvet bag. I pulled out a quartz crystal. After we all had a crystal in our hands, our instructor walked us through a meditation in which we were to merge with the crystal and see what the crystal had to show us. The meditation was supposed to take us through several stages...hearing and/or listening to the stone, "merging" with the stone, and then have the stone show us what could be done with it (healing, enchantment, etc.).

The instructor told me I might have trouble with the exercise, as I do have a bit of trouble meditating and faring forth. So, I was quite surprised when I connected with the stone almost immediately after the meditation begin. I felt the crystal throb in my hand, and then I saw nothing but white in my mind. Through the light came Lucy...but just her face. The only difference was she was white in the meditation, but it was definitely her...her little pink nose, outlined in black, her outlined eyes...but she was asleep. Still asleep. Eyes closed. Just like the last time I saw her.

I felt the tears start to trickle down my face. The stone would not allow me do the other parts of the meditation...it did not speak to me, would not let me know what it was used for, etc. So, for the duration of the meditation, Lucy's face was in my mind, and the tears just would not stop.
As my instructor brought us out of the meditation, he immediately said "PJammy, are you alright? I think you should go first." I told him what I saw, and how the crystal would not let me go through the other parts of the meditation. He said "Interesting...see, the stone you have there was a gift to me. The person who gave it to me called it a 'memoriam stone' because it is enchanted to show the Holder people who have passed over."

He went on to say that was why the stone would not let me go any further... that it's only purpose was to allow me to spend time with a loved one. In my case, my loved one was my cat.

I still lit a candle for Lucy last night...even though I am now sure she's passed over and is doing well.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

That Old Black Magic

Last year, my friend and I took a walk around the Sparks Marina. I was bemoaning the fact that most of the local pagan groups were either unwelcoming, cliquey, bitchy, or a more toxic combination of the above. I joking said "I should start my own group and call it The Black Hat Society!"

My friend didn't laugh. She said "Yes, Peej, you should. Do it. I'll help." And so that night in the Sparks Marina, we ironed out a brief outline of what we'd like the group to be.

Eight months later, the group is going strong. Our first meeting was in January, and while it hasn't grown in leaps in bounds as far as members, the ones that have joined us are committed and regular. Last night was our very first social gathering. By social, I mean we didn't have a planned topic of discussion, and we broke out of the Border's habit to meet somewhere else. That "somewhere else" was Vintage, a wine shop that I love. It was wine tasting night, so all three of us ordered the tasting, and were treated to a most delicious array of cheese, bread and fruit.

At some point last night when we were laughing about something someone said, I stepped out of myself for a minute and took a look at the ladies I sat with. This, I thought, was what I wanted all along. A true connection with women of like mind and spirit.

Oh sure, we talked about magic. A bunch of witches gathered together are bound to talk about magic. But, it was a casual kind of talking...and we also talked about our relationships (or lack therof), of earthquakes, of wine (we love wine!), and of how glad we all are that we were able to connect. We even talked about our next social gathering...perhaps a bar-b-que or a night at The Chocolate Bar. Who knows? The calendar is ripe for the picking.

What I do know is that I am ever so thankful that my friend encouraged me to get off my assets and start this group. The rest has nothing to do with me...but with the wonderful blessing received by all of us when we are together. The magic of friendship is some powerful magic, indeed.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Voices Carry

Dating online can be disappointing, exciting, or just plain surprising. When you first see someone online, you only have so much to go on. You kind of - well maybe - know what the person looks like (depending on the quality and truthfulness to the pictures posted). And, after a few chatroom and/or email exchanges, you kind of have an idea of how the person thinks, communicates, etc. But the voice...ah, the voice is always up to the imagination.

That is, until the phone call or the first meeting, which ever comes first.

Recently, I had a few exchanges that have been rather surprising. The first was a guy who emailed me (back when I was able to get away with hiding that precious address in my profile). He and I exchanged several interesting emails, and then we talked on the phone. Ahhhh...his voice. It was deep and tinged with amusement. I almost fell in love with him just from his voice.

Of course, as all things Pamela, that was not to be. We met in person, and he didn't really look like his photos. (Not his fault; he's one of those guys that photographs well, but reality is a bit, well, harsher.) But I didn't mind, because he had THE VOICE. I could listen to him all day. All night. However, truth be told, he couldn't listen to me, so he ditched me.

Okay...I brushed myself off and went on to the next guy.

The next guy seemed intelligent and well-spoken. He knew how to spell (bonus!). He also knew how to write. He was even, yes, funny. So of course I said yes when he asked me out for wine.

His voice was...ah...disappointing? I imagined him with a melodious voice. Maybe not deep...but deepish. Instead, he has the voice of, well, something I can't pinpoint. It's a bit breathy and nasaly. But, in a strange turn of events, I actually grew to like his voice. It seemed almost comforting in its strangeness. I found myself wanting more of that voice.

Again, as with all things Pamela, that one appears to have faded off in the distance. And so imagine my surprise when I received a whispered message in the chat room yesterday, with ten precious digits attached. Should I?

Of course I should! And so I did.

Ahhh...the voice was deep and comforting and slightly surprised and slightly amused all at the same time. The sound of this guy's voice was like a melody my heart could dance to.

I could get very used to a voice like that!

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Spanks for the Memories

This quarter's issue of Bitch magazine has an interesting article in it about DD (domestic discipline). Actually, the article is mostly about spanking and the women and men who like it.
I haven't finished reading the article, so it is probably a bit early to weigh in on it. However, one thing that stood out in the part I already read is that spanking seems (at least for the couples interviewed for the article) to help alleviate tension. Say that a woman is overly sensitive. Or ranting and raving. Or just put a dent in the family car. The guy simply puts her over his knee, spanks her a while, and the tension and anger just melts away.

Now, as a big fan of movies from the 30's and 40's, I'm no stranger to this concept. In fact, for the longest time I thought most husbands probably spanked their wives behind closed doors. Imagine my surprise when the feminists I knew said "Piepa, your crazy! This is not at all acceptable!"

And so began my split persona: the public part of me that agreed with my crazy, feminist friends, and the private side of me that just wanted a good spanking.

At this point, a few of you reading this are tempted to IM me, email me, or post a reply that goes a little something like this: "I'll give you a good spanking!" And I'm sure you could. But that's not what I want from you. Unless, of course, you are good looking, smell delicious, and have all your teeth, then please spank away. Seriously though, folks, please refrain from writing me such things, because I will not respond.

In mulling this concept over, I find it to have merit. A good spanking can sober someone up. It can release tension. And, it can help two people reconnect in a healthy way.

Now don't go thinking that I'm for domestic violence - I'm not. Domestic violence is QUITE different than DD. Discipline is given lovingly, carefully and respectfully. DV is quite the opposite, and is abusive, degrading, and dangerous and should be dealt with by the authorities.

That said, I wouldn't mind going back to a place in time where spanking wasn't taboo. I think a good spanking now and again could make the world a better place, one butt cheek at a time.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Ten Truths About PJammy

I just saw an article titled "Ten Truths About Tom Cruise." However, because I don't care about Tom Cruise, I've never cared about Tom Cruise, and I will never care about Tom Cruise, I decided not to click on the link.

I do, however, care about me, so here's Ten Truths about Moi that you won't find circulating around on the Internet (at least not yet!):

1) The last time I ever jumped on a couch, I was five years old. My mom yelled, my dad spanked, and I was grounded for a week. So Oprah, have no fear...when you call (and you will), I won't be jumping up on your couch. I just know you'll have my mom hidden somewhere, and my dad will have the paddle.

2) I like cats, and I'm not crazy. Well, at least not certifiably so.

3) I'm afraid of Scientologists...but that's just because my Hare Krishna friends planted strange ideas in my head about them. I'm sure they're just fine people, despite the mind control.

4) I have a baby. Her name is Suri. She's got fringe on top. I can't say anything more than that, or I'll have to go in for more auditing.

5) I once shot a duck. After it fell over, I shot another. After that one fell over, I shot another. Then I got an ugly stuffed animal from a toothless carny with a really bad mullet.

6) I used to think "pocket pool" was some sort of cool hand-held game. Oh wait. It is, isn't it?

7) I stripped. Once. That's right, once. It was enough. Getting that wallpaper stripped off the bedroom walls was one of the hardest things I've ever done!

8) I used to be a pole dancer. That's right. Me. Yep, a pole dancer. See, I used to roller skate in the neighborhood, head for the slight incline, and roll right down towards the light pole. I'd put my arm out and swing around and around the pole. It probably looked more like Square Dancing than Pole Dancing, but hey, it was fun!

9) I have never stolen anything in my life. Except for some guy's heart. It's still in my freezer. Shhhh...don't tell the cops.

10) I complete me.

A Toast To Me

For two days, I've had an awful migraine. Boo hoo, poor me. Well, that's right, dammit, poor me, indeed. You see, I had my Tuesday all planned. I had a chiro appointment at 5 p.m., and a massage scheduled with a co-worker (long story) at 5:30. I thought after all that pampering, I was going to go home, pour myself a generous glass of wine, and watch a movie on DVD.

No such luck. First off, the migraine started. The chiro took care of it...for a little while. And then it came back with a vengence. The massage helped, but not for long. This migraine was determined; it would not be stopped.

After 36 hours, my migraine finally went away around 8:00 p.m. last night. So, what did I do to celebrate? Have a nice heatlhy glass of water? Nope. I broke into my bottle of Smirnoff's Grand Cosmopolitan and poured myself a glass.

Ahhhh...it was everything I'd hoped it would be and more.

So, a toast...to my migraine. May it rest in peace.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Where has all the time gone?

I can't believe it's been over a month since my last post. Then again, I can. March definitely came in like a lion - early in the month, I learned that my beloved cat, Lucy, was very sick.

After several visits and several HUNDRED dollars, one of the vets thought she probably had small cell lymphoma. It was either that, or her IBD had gotten way out of control. Either way, the treatment was the same: chemotherapy.

Lucy did not do well with the chemo. She started having seizures several times a day. After the chemo treatment was over, she went downhill quickly. It became clear that I needed to make a decision, and so I did - painfully and regrettably I had to say good-bye to my companion of 14 years.

I still have trouble believing she is gone. Lucy was such a quiet, gentle force in my life. Today marks one month since her death. Tonight I hope to light a candle next to her cremains in remembrance of her friendship and gentle spirit.

Lucy, thanks for the memories. You will always be in my heart.

Friday, March 07, 2008

Prison Break

The dogs I dog-slash-housesit for have obviously been watching too much Prison Break while I'm on the computer.

The rule of the house is: if the dogs don't pee when they're let out for their last visit to the great outdoors before bedime, then they are crated. So, the other night I let them both out around 9:30 p.m., and commanded them to "pee!" They looked at me. They licked their haunches. Spencer rolled on my feet. Benny ran back to the side door.

"Benny," I called. "Go pee!" He came back and sat in front of me. Spencer rolled around on his back, and started rubbin his eyes with his paws. As if on cue, they ran to the side door and started barking for me to join them.

As fifteen peeless minutes had passed, I decided to let them back in. I gave them their night time snack, and said "Crate." They both ran in, and I started to zip the door closed.

Dang. No luck.

I tried the other side, and had a little more luck. I couldn't zip the whole thing, but as there was only about one and a half inches not zipped, I figured I was safe.

Around 4 a.m., I started to stir. I kind of needed to get up, but I didn't want to get up. So, I tossed and turned and then I heard this weird sound coming from the crate. "Why, it sounds like the crate is being unzipped," I thought. As soon as that thought cleared my head, the two dogs jumped on the bed and started rolling around. Then Benny ran downstairs, and Spencer curled up next to my face.

I told Spencer I was going to get some parental controls put on the TV, and went back to sleep.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Bookin' Boomers

Two months ago, I saw a posting on Craig's List from a woman who was interested in starting a book club. She wanted it to be a women's book club, and hoped to arouse the interest of "boomers."

I answered her post, and long story short, we had our first meeting last night at Borders. When I first met Rita I was impressed. She was nice, warm and very organized. We talked for a while, and she mentioned that one woman was coming with her husband, but only because they came into town together as he had an eye appointment earlier.

I expected that while we wimmin folk met, the husband would wander around the store, or go buy a coffee, or whatever it is that men do while their wimmin folk are engaged. But no...when the couple arrived, he plopped himself down and made himself comfortable.

When we were all there, Rita handed out a list for us to fill out with our pertinent contact information. When Howard's wife passed the list to him to sign, I noticed Rita looked alarmed.
When we started discussing possible book choices, it was clear that Howard thought he was part of the group. He suggested types of books he wanted to read. At some point, I thought that perhaps I had misread the posting; perhaps the group was to be a mixed group.

In general, this couple was annoying. They are well to do, and made it known. "We have a nice place at 'the Lake.'" All of a sudden, everything was "the Lake" this and "the Lake" that. The wife stated that they had gotten into house swapping, because they loved to travel and since they lived at "the Lake," they had a desirable place to swap.

Then she complained about some guy who swapped a one bedroom apartment for their tony lakeside property. "He sure cleaned up in the deal," she said.

When we discussed when our meetings should be scheduled, we suggested meeting the last Wednesday of the month, as it seemed to work for everyone already. "Oh no" the annoying couple replied. "We travel at the end of the month...every month."

When one lady asked about how a book club worked (as she hadn't been in one before), Annoying Wife started saying "Well, we've always done it like this..." When Rita suggested some ways we could run ours, Annoying Wife said "But I've never done it like that before."

Rita wants the group to be part activity group and part book club. Her proposed plan is to read and discuss a book one month, and take the next month off to go to a wine tasting or out to dinner or other such activity as a group. Annoying Wife said "Well, before we do any activities, we need to bond as a group first." I chimed in, "The best way to get to know people is at an activity where conversation isn't relegated to book discussion."

After the meeting finally ended, I thanked Rita for organizing the meeting, and then quickly drove home to check out the posting. I was right; the group was intended to be women only.
I wrote Rita and asked if Howard was going to be part of the group. "It's kind of awkward, I would think, if the group is intended just for women to say 'Hey Howard, unless you are prepared to wear a dress and go through menopause, I think you need to find something else to do on the third Wednesday of every month...'"

I haven't heard back...but I'm at least hoping that if Howard intends to be part of the group, that he at least dress the part.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Eat Me

Yesterday was a co-worker's birthday. She has helped me swim successfully through the world of data, and so I wanted to get her something special.

But what?

She loves Bath and Body Works, but since everyone knows that, they tend to buy her loads. Plus, she told me she spent about $100 at the last Bath & Body Works sale...so I'm sure she needs nothing in that department.


I put on my thinking cap (and it sure looked good on me!), and soon I had an idea: I'd get her a brownie from Claim Jumper.We talk about the infamous brownies all the time. How big they are. How delicious. Filled with nuts and chocolate...ummmm.... (after all, what woman in her right mind doesn't like nuts....oh, and chocolate?)

As yesterday was her day off, I had time. I gunned it to Claim Jumper after work, and bought a brownie. Then I gunned it to Michael's and bought some pretty ribbon (and while there, I met a man who used to be a woman...but more on that at a later time). Then I gunned it to Safeway for munchies (all that gunning left me hungry) and a birthday card.

I was set.

I got home and was greeted by my two very vocal kitties. “We hear you brought home a brownie,” they meowed. “Yeah, but it’s not for you. It’s for Lany, so keep your little tuna-flavored yaps shut.”

I squirreled it away, and went about my business. Every once in awhile I would hear a muffled voice saying “Eat me.” At first, I looked around the house to see if I could find the culprit. The only thing I found was a quarter, a cat nip toy and a pair of nylons that Purrscilla stole from me.
“Eat me.” The voice became louder and more incessant. “EAT ME!”

Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more, and my search for the source became ramped up. Then I found it…the brownie from Claim Jumper. “Eat me,” it said. “You know you want to!”

And yes, I did want to. Terribly so. However, my desire to give the brownie to Lany was stronger than my desire to eat it, so I pulled out the ribbon, cut off a yard, and wrapped up the brownie tightly. Sure enough, my ribbon muzzle worked. “Omphgeatohme” was all I heard for the rest of the night, until finally the brownie tired of talking through its brightly-colored hand-made muzzle.

I slept soundly last night, behind the safety of a closed door and ear plugs…just in case the brownie loosened itself from its hand-made muzzle long enough to convince me to take a girl-sized bite from that big old nut-covered brownie…

Thursday, February 14, 2008

The Other V-Day

I suppose Valentine's Day is a good day for someone like Jane Fonda to go on a national morning show to promote The Vagina Monologues. And, I suppose it's also a good day for an aging political activist like herself to spew the C-word on national TV. And by "C-word" I don't mean "cat."

Ah...Vagina Monologues and the C-word...my two least favorite things in the world. Together. On stage. With Jane Fonda...how delightful.

What? How could the Vagina Monologues be one of my least favorite things? Well, maybe because I'm a girl...What? you ask... how can you be a girl and NOT like the Vagina Monologues? Simply for this reason: I think it's an overrated production, and the chronic use of vulgar words in the production does not make it cool.

Oh yes. I saw it. A few years ago, a feminist friend of mine said "PJammy, you have to go see this play! It's the bee's knees!" And, not wanting to seem uncool or against the feminist movement, I said "Sure, sign me up." I went along...and I think I was supposed to be like the other feminist clones in the audience and cheer on the repeated use of the word "C*nt" and "vagina," but I kept quiet. I did not think the chronic use of the "C" word "took back the word" and made it any different. It's still the same old word with the same old vulgar meaning, and watching Eve Ensler utter it repeatedly did not magically change it into something Proud and Bold and Wonderful.

Neither did the repeated use of the "V" word. Yes, I know what I've got "down there." Yes, I know the technical name. However, I do not get any great feeling of liberation or satisfaction shouting it at the top of my lungs. "Vagina! VAGINA!" See? Nothing. I get more satisfaction at shouting the word "Fuck!" at the top of my lungs in the car after some nimrod cuts me off than I do in a roomful of feminists shouting out the V-word.

The thing is, I know I'm supposed to like it. It's not cool for me to admit that I don't. Oh sure, there were a few touching monologues. Overall, though, The Monologues did not speak to me, or give me permission to relish my vagina, or teach me anything new.

I will say this, though: Jane Fonda taught me something new. She taught me that it's kind of gross for an old lady, no matter how made up and plastic she might be, to utter obscenities on TV. Meredith Viera, please note: when I'm old and you interview me on your morning show after my rousing production called "The Penis Chronicals," the only "c-word" out of my mouth will be cat.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008


When my brother and I were little tykes, Cupid used to come visit us on Valentine's Eve. We were SO excited, we could barely sleep. We did think it strange that Cupid never visited any of the other children in the neighborhood. My mom said it was simply because they didn't believe.

Believe we did, so every Valentine's Day, the first thing we did was bound out of bed, kneel to the floor, and lift up our bedspread. See, Cupid always left our gifts underneath the bed. Additionally, because Cupid was small and did not have a big old sack like Santa Claus, he couldn't carry too much...so he normally only left us two presents each. The presents were never that big...but always something fun.

I remember one year, Cupid left me some white tennis socks with red piping and a red pom pom on each. He also left me a small lip balm. I was afraid this meant I was too grown up and he wouldn't come the next year, but he did.

I'm not actually sure when Cupid stopped coming by the house with little gifts...and I suppose it doesn't really matter. Because even now as I face yet another flowerless, candyless Valentine's Day, I can't help but smile when I remember a mother and father who loved me enough to devise a delightful little fantasy for two children who believed.

Saturday, February 02, 2008


When I woke up this morning and saw no snow on the ground, despite the local weatherman's prediction, I felt almost joyous. And then I heard the word: Phil says there will be six more weeks of winter.

Well hell.

Of course, I probably didn't need Punxsutawney Phil to tell me that. After all, storm after storm after storm should have clued me into the fact that Spring doesn't want to come early this year. I suppose she's having the time of her life on her Caribbean vacation and is in no hurry to leave her well-hung cabana boy for the dry desert wasteland that is Reno. Can't say I blame her.

But boy oh boy, am I ready for Spring. I want her to come...to bring with her warmer weather, bright sunshine and happy little daffodils. I'm so sick of the cold and the snow and the ice and the snow and the below freezing weather, and of course the snow.

I want to put away my warm woolen mittens and Harry Potter scarf. I want to pack away my snow boots and break out my gardening tools. But nooooo, Phil says I have to wait six more weeks for that to happen.

I'd cry, only my tear ducts have frozen. Guess I'll just sit in front of the heater with a cup of hot chamomile tea, and just be happy that at least LOST is back on TV. Perhaps the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 will help keep me warm while I begin my six week countdown to spring.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Taste Test

So, even though Cupid has my heart, I decided to pay for a three-month subscription on the other well-known matchmaking site. Today, I received an email from an old geezer. It went a little something like this:

Subject: You look delicious...
...and I want to taste you.

I wrote him back: Drop the Viagra and step away from the computer and nobody will get hurt.

Then I blocked him, because Lord knows I'm not ready to be some old geezer's dinner.