17 May
I had a very long, photo-realistic dream last night about being on an airplane.
Alright, I'll admit it, no point in trying to have any dignity with you people, I dreamt that Russell Crowe and I were getting married and we had chartered a private plane to lug all my crap and all my cats over there, so that my cats wouldn't have to be in the belly of the plane for 14 hours or whatever, as they would all have collective strokes.
Of course, though, since the flight is 14 hours or whatever, and the dream was in real-time, I never landed, 'cause I only slept for eight hours.
The funny thing was that when I woke up, the first thing I read was Amanda's new email entry, where she says (quoted without permission, but I'm sure that she won't mind:
"I watched at least half of the movies on our flight back to the USA back in January 97, but that wasn't due to the quality of the flicks, but more that if I didn't watch the movie, I'd have to think about the turbulence and how guilty I'd feel if we plunged into the ocean, because my cats were in the cargo hold and wouldn't know what was happening. All my fault, for bringing them over, you see."
Synergy.
And while we are on the Australian kick, The Other Amanda has a really terrific guest entry by her husband who just came back from Australia.
Hey, maybe that was one of those prophetic dreams! Nah, I have never had a prophetic dream in my life that wasn't about the most mundane thing imaginable. My enormous, life-changing dreams are always products of my fevered imagination.
So, I raced home from work last night.
Why? Not for Buffy (I'm still behind, and I was taping it anyway), but for the Jazz game. Who could ever imagine that I, who has hated basketball all of her life, would be tearing pell-mell through town so that I wouldn't miss a playoff game? Not me.
It was a terrifically exciting game, too, with the Jazz ahead most of the time, and my beloved Stockton throwing about the coolest 15' no-look pass to Malone, but ending up with their losing by 2, because that stupid motherfucker Russell both let Pippin get a 3 point shot to get ahead by 1, and then missed both of his free shots after getting fouled.
He needs to have the soles of his feet beaten with hot pokers.
And it was Jeff Hornacek's last game, so the team will be much weaker next year, which will be Stockton's last season. When it was over, the three of us just sat on the couch, staring straight ahead in shock. As though we had witnessed a car-wreck.
Which we, in fact, did.
Journal of the Week! Journal of the Week! It's Wednesday and I am remembering every day to link my Journal of the Week, Gwen's Petty, Judgemental, Evil Thoughts!
I'm so proud of myself.
Okay, I have a feeling that I will be getting no more submissions to my contest, which is fine because I have enough wonderful designers participating already, that I'm sure choosing will be difficult as hell.
So, you wonderful designers, I'm cracking that whip! I want to have my new index page ready by 1 June (although I may just cheat and let the new logo be the entire redesign, but I haven't decided yet) so I need your entries really soon!
And keep in mind, the ones that I have already received are just wonderful, so the standard is really high. Jeez this is fun!
Today's horoscope:
Your mind goes in many directions today, with a focus ranging from education, religion, philosophy, travel, sports, parties or future plans.
One year ago today:
If no-one ever hears from me again, it's because I was sucked into the maw of my referrer stats...
* Yesterday / Index / This Month / Tomorrow *
Jeweled fantasy by:
Jane Doe!
This page was written by hand. My hand. Only
pussies use HTML editors.
Last Updated Wed 17 May 10:05:09 2000