Sweet.

That, my friends, is water pressure. In my kitchen sink. Something I've been wanting badly since the day I moved in. There have been two places--the kitchen sink and the master bath shower--that have had the most piss poor (pun and yucky visual intended) water pressure--that have been driving me nutso. And aren't those the exact two places where you care about water pressure the most? I mean, those and the Turbo Bidet Orgazmo 3000. But I digress.

When the plumber came today to install the toilet (see: "Sweeter," below), I batted my eyes and said, "Well, while you're here, could you tell me what's up with this water pressure...pleeeeeeeze?" The master bath is a more-involved issue (i.e., another day, another several hundred dollars), but I'll be damned if homeboy didn't fix the kitchen sink lickety split. For free. [After today's work, I highly recommend "Clarke Kent" plumbing in Austin. Gay name; Good service;Reasonable price.]

Sweeter.

There she is ladies and (probably no) gents (except for Butt...you stalker): an adult size Kohler toilet that's functional and everything. I love it so much, I could almost kiss it. Almost. It has been nearly 3 weeks since I've been able to #1 or #2 in my bathroom, and I gotta say, this is one sweet ride: tall, long, and luxurious. Me likey.

Sweetest.

Holy Mother of God. The Bose soundock for the iPod is SO worth the money. The sound quality is unreal for something so compact. I am seriously considering throwing out my regular old stereo for this mo-fo. I've been listening to it non-stop since I got it, and it rocks so hard, even when it's cranked.

The downward slide.

My 16 year old cat, Ellen (a.k.a. The Ellen Melon, Brownie, Grunchy, etc.), is going downhill fast. It's so hard to watch. She's so bony, and shaky, and still. I've been at home most of the day today, and I can state without a doubt that she has been in the same spot on the guest room bed for at least 10 hours. Hasn't eaten. Hasn't drunk any water. Hasn't peed or pooped. She's just slept and occasionally readjusted her position.

I know the end is near--and by near, I'm not talking this weekend or anything, more like a few months at least. But still, it's very hard to think about her not being a part of my life. She's been with me since the winter of 1990 for Christ's sake. I've had 4 different cars and 9 different addresses during that time, but only 1 Ellen.

I look over at her, sleeping on the bed, and my heart hurts.

I am in love with a dead man.

I was watching some documentary thing on MGM movie musicals last night, and they had this whole section on Gene Kelly, and by the end of it, I'd fallen madly in love with him. I've always thought he was handsome and talented. And ever since he played that clarinet-playing old coot in "Xanadu," I've had a special place in my heart for him. But as they played clip after clip of him dancing and singing and leaping around, I just melted. There was nothing the slightest bit fey about the way he danced--just pure athletic elegance. When he danced, not only did it look effortless, but it looked like he was enjoying the hell out of himself. Plus, it didn't hurt that he was very, very good looking--unlike Fred Astaire who was sort of goofy in an endearing way. I mean, look at him.

Sigh.

Now I want to know more about my new dead boyfriend. Where was he from? Was he married? Any kids? I'm totally smitten.

To say I'm disgusted and disturbed just doesn't cut it.

Don't ask me how, but I ran across this on ye olde Internet: a PRO-anorexia support group. I don't guess I should be surprised. I mean, the internet is filled to the gills with freaky shit. But these entries--which seem like they're all written by very young women--are so fucked up. It just goes to show you what the overwhelming pressure to be thin can lead to. Now that I have a daughter of my own, this whole body image for girls thing is really scary.

Christmas in Texas...

...means you get to play OUTSIDE with your toys wearing short sleeves and sunglasses.

It also means you get to put about a gagillion miles on your environmentally-friendly, human-powered new car...

And finally, it means that you get the present that matters most: lots and lots of sugar.

Yes, my hair and my shirt match. I planned it that way.

Do a little dance, make a little love...

Merry Christmas, Disco Freaks!