UP early to get ready for another afternoon party, but don't really wanna go.   Gotta do some shopping.   It's Sharrie's b-day shabang.   She told me about it short notice yesterday after Sociology lecture (crowd behavior).   The skinny mini must've climbed down over six rows of seats to reach me.    She was wearing a light-duty white cashmere cardigan and baby blue stirrup pants with that humongous rock on her finger.   Com'on, I was her "best friend," she whined; she had to have me there.    

"Gaw, there's no time to get a decent present," I protested.   

No problemo, she sang, just "mix" her a CD.   She suggested 2 songs she knew I had.    I remembered them from her fiance, Scott; they were his favs.   He will be there, of course, with all his fancy musician friends.   Oh, and she could use a few music supplies, too, she added.   Some guitar picks or amp fuses ("AMP fuses?!?").    Anything "geete."    That would also be for him.    That's all?

She whipped out her cell phone and brought up her voice mail menu.   "I'm putting you back into my system so you can call me any time you want."

She wanted me to do a real cheapo.   How embarrassing.

"Why?" said Thea.  "That what she deserve."   

Thea helped me make the CD late last night--she has all that MP3 stuff--but I still don't like it.   As for the music supplies, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.    Brucie's out of town, so we can't ask him.

Chelle's down with a cold--it's HER turn to be sick--and doesn't want anybody in the room.   Her family doctor's got her all pumped up with meds and she hasn't gotten out of bed for 10 days except for midterms.   I suspect she's really over it by now and just grooving on an antihistamine high, the little escape artist.   I've half a mind to tease her about beating off and smell her fingers for evidence like she always does me.    "Hands out of your pants, gurlie girl!"    But I'll be nice, just in case.  

Donna's holed up in her room cramming and doesn't appreciate being distracted either.   She thinks the party would do me good; I can "connect" with different peeps.   Why do I get the feeling my roommies are trying to get rid of me for the weekend?

As for Steve's party, it was good fun.   They ordered his fav Mississippi mud ice cream pie, plus Macadamia brittle over chocolate cake.   One of Olson's clients gave him a pet serval that's totally unhouse-trainable.   They've been passing her from friend to friend to see who can rise to the challenge.   They've tried aroma therapy, zapping her with the plant pistol, screaming and hollering and making loud noises, but she continues to spray the walls and furniture--even your trousers--with piss.   She must mark her territory, inside and out.   Unlike domestic cats, she doesn't mind water at all.   Someone thought of filling the plant mister with human piss, give her a taste of her own medicine (How would you like your home and belongings reeking of animal musk?), but that made her fly into a temper and lunge at them with her sharp fangs, the only weapons she still has since being completely declawed.  

"She gets a funny 'tongue in cheek' expression when she's in a temper," said June.   "She stares at you open mouthed, tongue curled like a parrot's, as if she'd like to cuss you out."

Normally she pants like a dog, especially when she's hungry.   You can't pet her unless she knows you really well, if ever.   I was tempted to comment, "So what good is she except for a centerpiece?" but restrained myself.   I suggested swatting her with a riding quert; at least one's arms and hands are out of the way.

The serval sorta reminds me of Sharrie--as a matter of fact, Chelle, too.   But I should talk, cuz I could've rolled in Brett's aftershave.   I'm beginning to really dig his new spruced-up look; whata he-male.   He had a mustache but shaved it off after a week.   Alas, he was there only for the occassion, and it was not the time or the place to make love.   He'll be back 3 days next week for Turkey Day, he reassured me, squeezing my shoulder, but I'm not easily placated.   He's 150 miles away, and has yet to drive here for ME.    I'm starting to feel a bit IGNORED, if ya know what I mean.

Now click your heels and repeat after me:
OMG you're the best,
OMG you're the best......

ALL HALLOWS was especially fine.    Bruce got us passes to this big happening on a ferry off the Montecito coast.    The whole ship was strung with orange, gold, and white Chinese lanterns, and all the crew dressed like pirates.   We did do the American Indian get up, but Chelle decided to go as a bumble bee.    I met this genuine Mexicali guy with one of those impossible-to-pronounce last names spelt with an "X."  It was jolly good fun.  Some guys drunk with beer fell overboard dancing.  The weather dried up just in time, as if it remembered the occasion.

Other haps:   A spiritual teacher at the reservation named Shawny started us on sweat baths.    The real thing, in a pit underground.   They're supposed to have great cleansing and healing powers, but each time I go (twice so far), I get horrific dreams that night.    Last night was such an experience.   I was in an old, tree-lined neighborhood that appeared to be a relative's in Redwood City.   I was standing before a detached two-car garage, which had a single-car garage perpendicular with it so that they shared the same driveway, barricaded by a low cyclone fence.   The large double door was inlaid center bottom with an intricately carved panel, about 3 feet square, featuring a free-form checkerboard design of bright red and gold horizontal oblongs, with a burnt umber background that outlined each check.   It was rather pebbly, and the diverging pattern, though regular, was subtle, almost whorled, as in a subliminal ad.    As I began to wander down the middle of the road, trudging through several inches of multicolored autumn leaves, the door loomed behind me.   I turned around and saw that it now had a strange oak tree that reminded me of the holiday trees in Timothy Burton's The Nightmare Before Xmas superimposed on it.   But instead of a little door at the heart, there was a large, fleshy malevolent eye, entirely black with no white or iris, watching me, following me about.   When it blinked, it seemed to gulp, like a big, black gullet.    Then the tree disappeared, melting into the wood, and the decorative panel, composed perhaps of thickly painted white oak bark, suddenly became a huge backdrop which blocked the whole street, obscuring the houses on each side.   The mandalalike pattern was mesmerizing, with an extremely evil aspect, and filled me with terror.  I stared at it, transfixed.   

I awoke and had to pee.    It was raining, and fresh pine smoke and freeway exhaust hung in the the air.    I thought:   Tree spirits, sacrificial victims.    In the distance was this eerie intermittent howling sound, probably a stubborn car engine whining as its driver urged it to start.   I wondered if I'd heard in in my sleep, for it sounded like wolves.   When I returned to bed, I had more dreams, each short and vivid, each about murder and mayhem.    Sometimes they concerned me, sometimes friends and acquaintances, sometimes strangers.    They could've been 50 years ago, or five hundred, or Today.   In one I was lying in bed with an electric blanket over me.   I went to adjust the temperature, and as soon as I turned the dial, the covering melted and gathered around me like shrink wrap.   I felt like the Mafia princess in The Godfather.

Shawny's of the opinion I'm getting too dehydrated and will feel fine once I get in the proper fluids.   I dunno.   I've had fugues like this before.    One was about some rich important guy I was crushing on.  Every time I dwelled on him, I had a nightmare that he would somehow totally ruin me if I didn't respond to him.    I had to pass the test; if I didn't lube and tune, right then, right now, I was done for.    He was just no good for me.

On a lighter note, Brett's coming down this Saturday for his brother Steve's b-day.    There's to be a party at Farrells.   It will be the first time I've seen him since September.    Miss the man so much!!!

And now for some lunch, before this aspiring young writer passes out from low blood sugar......oh, SHIT!   Chelle forgot to drop off the rent again!