I want it back again.

What would my blog be if I didn't say anything about the weekends?

This past weekend... we went to a Good Charlotte concert on Friday night, and it felt really, really good to let the inner little girl out. Jumping up and down, head-bobbing, pushing, screaming. It was easy to let her out, spontaneous, and didn't feel silly at all. We shopped on Saturday. It was, like it always is, a disappointment. We went to an auto show on Sunday, where I probably picked up the germs that are now wreaking havoc on my system.

The weekend before, we played football on Saturday, and I scored a TD... which, if you've ever seen me try to catch anything then you'd know, was an amazing accomplishment. We went to my roommate's bday dinner at Celia's, where some humongous Asian dude whose arms are bigger than my thighs told us that true love is a guy taking it up the ass by his dildo-wearing girlfriend. Dumbass. (Or rather, Fuckass.) In that scenario, I can only imagine one and only one person experiencing true love. I can't remember what we did that Sunday. Probably shopped. And it was probably a disappointment.

Is all of this good enough? No, it's not, and I'm not sure why it's not. It used to be. But I don't feel the same now. I didn't want to change. It's as if there was a sudden blackout. A sudden ceasing of the flow of electricity. I'm just not feeling it anymore. I am sad about that.

I have a cold. It started up yesterday evening. I can probably blame it on the weather. I believe self-inflicted stress had a lot to do with it as well. I opened myself up to this bug, and now it's going to help me out of my two-week-long bout of mild depression.

I've had negative, self-defeating thoughts and feelings related to subjects I don't feel like writing or talking about with anyone... the kind I don't like admitting that I have. So if you asked me how I'm doing, I probably said that I'm fine. If you asked me what's wrong, I got creative and told you something other than the real story. I didn't want you to know that I was depressed, or that I was having difficulty with x, y, and z.

Today I'm home, trying to get well soon. I have some time to regain some clarity.

I'm still trying to make something out of post-debt life. There's not that out-of-debt feeling to look forward to and work toward anymore. There's not one big, glaring, and outstanding goal anymore. There are just all of those little ones that were dwarfed by the big one that isn't there anymore.

We are what we owe. We are what we buy. I can be more than that now. My debt, when I had it, more or less defined me. Now, there's probably an immediate need for me to re-define myself.

Of course I want more, but what I want more of is no longer obvious. It's not money anymore. In trying to figure out what I want more of now, so I can create new, significant goals, I've overturned areas of insecurity... areas such as my relationship and job. Have I been expecting or settling for the bare minimum? Should I risk fucking everything up to go for more? Am I really special?

As I sit here, sore and coughing, I'm also blanking out... and it feels good, actually. I feel better already. Self-inflicted stress, when identified, should be nixed immediately by whatever means, be that a cold, or a day away from work, or what have you... I needed this break in the ol' routine to stop my would-be-contstructive thoughts and feelings from spiraling out of control in the wrong direction.

I'm focusing on getting well by tomorrow, if not by Friday, so I can enjoy LA over the weekend.

The easiest way to have what other people have is to become like them.

And that's still something I'm reluctant to do.

Please pass me the spice.

We watched The Matrix Revolutions last night.

Again, I didn't spot any Hispanic/Latino characters. Did you? Were there some in the first movie? Do I have some strange subconscious filter on? Am I just imagining an anti-Hispanic/Latino sentiment?

In this last movie, there were Indian characters, three to be exact... and, for some reason, their being Indian seemed a bit contrived. As if the ethnicity of those characters was an afterthought, perhaps in a last-minute attempt to represent/acknowledge/reach that growing minority segment. I mean, for me it was kinda like, "Hello! Indian people. Familiar accents. Like the Indian people I work with. What are they doing in this movie, and what are the Hispanics/Latinos doing not in this movie?"

Friday night, we played poker. I was more relaxed than usual. I felt a lot looser in demeanor and conversation, though I'm still not so much looser in my poker plays. I'm tired of not saying much, and I'm opening up and letting more of it (not yet all) hang out, I think.

Speaking of hanging out... why don't guys flash their dicks at Mardi Gras? Why aren't there a plethora of Guys Gone Wild videos of the same variety as the Girls Gone Wild videos, but with guys sensationally revealing their balls & penises? Maybe there are, but once again, they're either be full-fledged porn vids or for gay guys and not straight girls.

Shoot... I want to be titillated, but not by way of tits!

Saturday morning, I got my hair re-highlighted. This time, Raymond suggested I go back to red highlights. They're more like magenta than red right now, and it's taking me some time to get used to the color.

Saturday was the fifth straight day of moving Babe into his new, old studio. Moving was absolutely dreadful. Dirty, wet, heavy, and unfulfilling until it was over, we were finally able to sit on the couch and catch up on all the shows we missed that were waiting in the TiVo queue.

Grumping out is an inevitable part of moving for me. I'm control freak-ish (or freakishly controlling) when it comes to the handling, organization, and placement of things. I've always upheld a strict "everything has it's rightful and ideal place" policy. Therefore, moving presents a lot of potentially frustrating scenarios for me. Feel free to call me anal retentive or Monica-esque.

We got caught up on Survivor: Pearl Islands and The OC. The thing about The OC is, at this point, the adults' character and relationship dynamics are more captivating than those of the younger characters. Even then, most of the characters are not easily likeable, with the exception of Seth. He's tolerable because he's the dorky underdog, the type for which I've always had a soft spot. Still, with all its disturbing quirks, the show is a guilty pleasure.

I pointed out to Babe that every actor and actress in the show, and many other shows, is wearing a lot of makeup, especially blush and lip balm, which is something that he, and I imagine most other guys, can't tell. Hell, these makeup artists put on so much and do it so well they could make a smokin' hot babe out of my face!

We watched the first episode of Average Joe. I recommend it. Watch poor, gorgeous Melana date and kiss the sub-average ogres. More guilty pleasure.

On Sunday night, I had a fresh, warm, glazed Krispy Kreme donut. I'd never had one that was just out of the fryer before, and it was 100 times more delicious than I ever imagined. I got giddy. And I'm still thinking about it...

Though it's already a week late, I'm blogging about last weekend because at least one noteworthy thing happened...

On Friday night, Babe and I went up to the Castro with Diana, and Terry, and friends. They all went in gothic costumes. Babe was a 14-year-old skater with blue hair and Dickies shorts. I was a... well, I put something together at the last minute from the very jejune (<-- I've waited a long time to be able to use that word in a sentence) Hot Topic store at the last minute, so basically I was Ms. Hot Topic or a wannabe/punk-y schoolgirl. I couldn't get the Gogo costume together in time.

Saturday night... the surprise. I had to close my eyes while Babe retrieved it from somewhere. When I opened my eyes, there was a box in front of me. It was about the size of a guitar. It was about as light as a guitar too. And yeah, there was a guitar in it.

Babe got me a GUITAR!

Babe is the BEST!

I was very late to a performance on Sunday night at Davies Symphony Hall by the Academy of Saint Martin in the Fields. I remembered hearing them all the time on the classical music station while growing up. I missed the Beethoven Piano Concerto, which is the piece I would've connected with the most that night. Mozart's never done it for me.

I spent about $50 on the performance, and I don't think I got $50 worth of jollies out of it. On the otherhand, it felt nice to be in a symphony hall again. Would hit up the place again sometime if a good piano-centric performance comes along.

Being out of debt has been somewhat anticlimactic so far. I feel as if I enjoyed the feeling for less than a week before new, stupid financial burdens are back on my back.

I got pulled over by a cop yesterday for not having a current registration sticker. I haven't gotten the sticker yet, though I paid the registration fees before the due date. This same crappy scenario happened to me last year, and I had to go to the DMV to pick up the sticker. The DMV is a huge pain in the ass, as I'm sure you know.

Anyhow, the cop didn't feel like letting me go with just a fix-it citation. He gave my car a once-over and dropped two more citations on me. One is for not having a front license plate. The other one is for having only one working "rear-view mirror" while having tinted back windows. The right-side mirror would be considered a second working rear-view mirror if mine was working. I have no idea why the left-side mirror is not also considered a rear-view mirror.

I'd been waiting to get out of debt so that I could get a new laptop, and then get all the damages on my car fixed. But now I'll have to prioritize fixing the car, which I can only hope will be less than $1200. And I have no idea how much the citiations are going to cost me.

Well, unexpected expenses happen to everyone. I'm opting to continue living as if I still have a huge debt on my back, and put all the money that was once going to creditors into savings and/or investments... instead of buying a laptop and new clothing and planning trips to Hawaii and Europe right away. I think I'm actually more comfortable with the "I am poor and must pinch pennies" mentality than the "I am out of debt and can afford better" mentality at this time... ironically.

I love when I hear a song in my head, and then I put on the actual song... and it plays in the exact same key as I hear it in my head.

It feels as if what's in my head is suddenly on the outside of my head too, as if it travelled seamlessly through my skull. What was formerly only audible to me is now also audible to rest of the world within hearing distance. It's that seamless transfer from inner to outer that is so cool.

Are most people able to do that? Is it not so special to be able to remember the key of songs and be able to reproduce the song in that key at any given moment?

I've been in a state of limbido (libido in limbo) for about a week.

Between the sudden weather change, the dryness and the subsequent itchiness, feeling bloated, and a particular catalog from a famous lingerie retailer, something sucked all the sexuality out of me. I do not feel sexy. I don't feel like trying for sex every night. The usual turn-ons aren't working. And I'm only semi-frustrated.

I half-heartedly tried finding something online to look at or subscribe to that could bring back the sexual sparks. Ladies, did you ever notice how devoid of male erotica for women the online and magazine world is? What's out there is for gay men, not for us. Oh yes, it's unfair. It's just another way we women are jacked in this life.

What's a girl gotta do if she wants a little sexual perk? Why's it so hard for us, when all a guy's gotta do, sometimes, is pick up a freaking Vickie's Secret catalog?!

Shopping for classier, more my-age-appropriate clothing is becoming increasingly frustrating. I can't seem to break out of the A&F/A|X/BR routine. At the stores, I see the nice, grown-up things to wear, I look at the pricetags, and I walk away. Hmph!

I can't for the life of me willingly spend over $100 on a pair of pants or over $50 on a blouse. I can't even picture myself successfully wearing expensive or couture clothing. All I really want to buy are more T's and jeans.

I need help. I want help. And Babe's no help. Can you help me? Could you be my Carson Kressley? Would you like to give me a clothing-makeover?