invited people to take the following survey. This is copied from my reply to her entry.

Are you feeling lucky, punk?
Always.
What's the stupidest-sounding Native American place-name (that actually exists)?
Navesink…it's in New Jersey…
If you were taking the welcome rain on vacation with you, where would you take her to?
Baja Sur, Mexico, cuz everyone should get to dip their toes in the Gulf of California and watch the dolphins frolic, while sipping margaritas.
When was the last time you fell down in public?
1997. It was dark, there was ice. I am not a klutz.
Give an example of rape in art.
The way Maplethorpe's work was turned into something dirty.
If you were a herb or spice, which one would you be? (No picking the flower you were in survey #4.)
Spearmint
Give ANY solution to the Palestine-Israeli conflict. (NO “I DON'T KNOW” ANSWERS! I will KILL you! kynn, you don't have to answer this one.)
I'm not sure there is a solution. But I quite liked the space station idea mentioned above.
What color is your ethernet cable?
Sunshine yellow
30 menopausal women == T-shirts. And bumper stickers. “I forgot my estrogen. And I'm armed.”
Do you step on worms after a rainstorm?
No. But I once read an essay that claimed the purpose of shoes was to keep the worms from tickling the bottom of your feet.
Create an original Magic Marker color/flavor combo.
Mocha-Chai Mauve
Can I go home soon?
I couldn't say. But I'm leaving at 3:30, whether they like it or not.
Your most annoying relative is:
3000 miles away.
Remember those people that fell through the floor?
But they landed on a trampoline, and shot through the ceiling, after…
If someone made an action figure of you, what accessory would be sold separately?
The red backpack of doom - which contains a day-planner/bludgeon, among other things.
Name a teacher that humiliated you.
Sixth-grade teacher at Salida school. Strangely, I've blocked his name.
Three candles dispel the darkness: _____, _____, and ______.
Tea, oranges, good books.

I'm sitting in my office drinking my morning macchiato. E. brought bagels in for everyone, and I love bagels, so that was a nice surprise. And a welcome change from his usual Krispy Kremes, which I no longer eat.

I haven't felt much like writing lately. No. That's not true. I have felt like writing, but there's been a severe lack of communication between my brain and my hands. Too much effort, some days, to pick up a pen, or tap on keys.

I've slipped back into recluse mode these days. It's bad, I know, cutting myself off from people, especially people I've only recently met IRL, and really would like to get to know better, but I'm in a mood where I'm snippish and bitchy all the time, and I just don't think people who don't live with me should have to deal with that. For that matter, I don't think should have to deal with that, either, and I really try to just go hide with a book when I can't bite my tongue, and he's been so patient. . .

I started a short story, and let read the beginning, but a) I suck at fiction and b) the characters are telling me that there will be a sex scene, and I'm not sure I can write the scene without it being cheesy and stupid. There's a series of essays running through my head, most of which will end up in OD, not LJ, but the story is first and foremost in my brain, and even the other ideas battering at me won't be released until I figure out how to finish it.

I've spent the last two nights reformatting computers. My laptop decided that it would no longer let me open O2k stuff - anything - or play dvd's, so I spent Sunday doing that (after the taxes were done, and between naps), and then last night I reformatted the Sony, and feeling extremely stupid, because after searching for half an hour for the Certificate of Authenticity for WinMe (yes, I know, sucky OS, but it lets the pen-tablet/monitor work)I realized that it was, in fact, taped to the side of the computer, and on top of that, I didn't even need the damned number. I was angry at myself because I thought I'd lost it, and after three years as a Gateway tech, I know better than to start a format w/o having all my media handy.

My weekend was completely self-indulgent. I spent Saturday morning at the salon, getting a spa pedicure, a manicure (love the feeling of hot parrafin between my fingers), my eyebrows waxed, among other things…Said - Azam's husband - acts as host to the women in the salon, and kept bringing me hot tea with lime, and offering cake, which I kept declining. After a long nap, I stirred and we went to the mall, where I bought all new makeup, and more clothes (can there ever be enough clothing in one's closet?) and one of those herbal paks that you nuke and then drape over your shoulders. I should really bring it to work, but the microwave here is disgusting.

I'm almost done with the novel Stones from the River, the last of my recommendations from Princess Ella at OD.

wrote about Rostropovich, and ever since, my cello has been glaring at me. “You haven't played me in weeks,” it murmurs in it's low, burred voice. “It's not so hot that you need to worry about over tightening my strings. I'm lonely. Play me.” Part of the problem with me playing is that when I've been typing all day at work, my arm aches too much to hold a bow when I come home. And while I want a spiffy new lightweight graphite bow, I can't really justify the price of one. And admittedly, I hate to practice with my husband home. I need the freedom to make mistakes, or to work on one section of an etude for an hour, if need be. And I can't do that with him in the house.

Still, since I've told that I'm not playing 7th Sea any more, I'll have Friday nights to devote to music and writing. And I'm looking forward to those blocks of me-time.

I've neglected doing the taxes until the last possible second, because while I suspected that our income had changed enough that we wouldn't owe a small fortune, I wasn't certain.

But now they're done. And not only do we not owe the Feds anything, but the refund is more than the balance of what we're still paying off from LAST YEAR.

We don't owe the state anything either.

Beer all round, for those who want it.

I'm in rant mode, right now, and all of my ranting is in regards to the telephone. My issues with the phone are numerous, so I'll just highlight a few:

Timing. If you're calling me about a business issue, and you call my home during the day, you have no reason to expect me to be there, because, with the exception of the first 10 months of 2001, I've worked full time since 1989. Most adults, in fact, work outside the home, so it's pretty stupid that anyone tries calling home numbers.

If you insist upon calling my home number during normal work hours you are therefore obligated to leave (at the very least) your full name, your phone number even if you think I have it, what company or organization you are affiliated with, and the hours during which you are accessible. (My home voice mail message states, btw, that if I don't know who you are, and you don't tell me why you're calling me, you won't get called back.)

If you call me after normal business hours, and either leave a message, or I choose to take the call, but am unable to deal with you at that moment, you had better be available for a return call, also after business hours. If you can call me at 7:45 on a weekday evening, I should be able to call you at 8:15 that same evening.

Proper Use of VoiceMail. I don't care if you're the president of a company, a Realtor, my mother, or God, if you choose to leave a message, leave a real message. There is nothing more stupid than “Hi. I need to talk to you. Call me back.” If you simply need to impart information, then you can do that on my voice mail. If it's urgent that you know I heard it, simply ask me to call and confirm receipt. Is that so difficult? And if you need to ask a question, leave the question on my voice mail. That way, if I call you back, and get your voice mail, I can leave the answer, and we don't have to waste eighty years playing phone tag.

Basic Telephone Etiquette. If you call me, and you expect to address me by my first name, then I expect the same privilege. If you identify yourself as Mr. So-and-so, then you'd better address me as “Ms. ” And if I tell you that the time is bad, or I'm at work, or we're in a car, you'd better accept that.

And really, does anyone learn basic manners these days? Last night I answered a call at home that turned out to be a wrong number. I'd barely finished saying “Hello” and the person on the other end demanded shrilly, “Is Maria there?” (I don't even know anyone named Maria.) It wouldn't have killed the caller to respond with “Hello, I'm LoudDemandingPerson. Is Maria there?”

I know this rant is really bitchy. The truth is that I'm not a bitchy person, really, I just think that if people are going to use the telephone, they should use it correctly.

One of my morning rituals is my precisely timed trip to the local Starbucks, where I generally buy a caramel macchiato for myself, and a banana muffin for Fuzzy. This morning, since we were at the eye doctor, we went to Big Apple Bagels instead, and then I trekked across the parking lot to the mini-Starbucks that recently opened there. (Big Apple Bagels does sell coffee, but it doesn't taste good, and their espresso is too bitter.)

I've been to this Starbucks before, and found that the staff was unnaturally friendly. Disturbingly so. “Welcome to Starbucks, what can we make for you today?” the manager booms when I visit on the way back from lunch.

I thought the atmosphere might be different at 9:15 on a weekday morning, and entered bravely, expecting a line such as the ones I'm accustomed to at the cafe on my own block.

There was no line. There was a note on the door that said, “Sorry, we're out of soy,” and there were three people milling about the tight confines of the room. There were an equal number of baristas. My home Starbucks is promoting coconut mocha frapps, so I asked if this one had coconut syrup. “We don't,” they said.

“Oh, well,” I replied. “A venti caramel macchiato, then, please.”

While I was being rung up the young woman actually making the drinks called over, “I can make it taste like coconut, if you want.”

I asked how. She explained that if you combine 2 pumps of vanilla with one pump of Irish cream, it tastes like coconut. “Try it,” she suggested. “We won't charge for the extra syrup.”

So, feeling slightly adventurous, I agreed to try the results of her cafe chemistry.

She was right. The combination of flavors not only tastes like coconut, it smells like coconut.

My friends, I introduce to you, the Coconut Mock-iato.

P.S. For those of you following my LASIK journey. 's LJ has been updated with the results of today's follow-up.

Someone on Open Diary started this 6 Degrees-ish game where you start with one of the folks on your friends list, and follow links from the people they get notes from. So I thought I'd do that here. Should anyone else choose to play, here are the rules:

1) The first link in your chain must be someone on your friends list.
2) You choose one of their commenters, and read a few of their entries. Leave a note.
3) Select a commenter from that person, and repeat.
4) List the links and any observations of, say, whether you seem to share interests or if there are other commenters whom you recognize, in an entry in your LJ.
5) Don't judge. The idea is to explore the folks read by the folks you read.
6) Avoid following links to people who are already on YOUR friends list.
7) Number of links should be between six and ten.

1) Since I began with on OD, I chose not to begin with her here. Instead, I chose because he's one of the people I read frequently who I'd really like to know better.

2) From there, I visited because this was the only person in the most recent set of comments whom I didn't recognize.

3) . Because of this LJ user, I now know that there's an Edward Gorey community on LJ. Cool.

4) is a name I've seen on several friends lists, but this is the first time I've ever really read any of her stuff. Glad I did.

5) was the next stop. Another person born in '76…I seem to be finding a lot of people who were born in that year, lately.

6) . Yet another person listing Cake among things they listen to. I feel so deprived now, because I've only ever heard /one/ Cake song.

7) . Another person who refers to LKH's Merry Gentry series as 'faerie porn'.

And on that note, since it's bedtime, I've declared my trek over. I've noticed that while OD tends to be more dominated by women, LJ is more equally represented, though average posts are shorter, which is something I always knew anyway.

…I complained to Fuzzy as the Levitz guys finished assembling our new bedroom set. I think this is because there's no footboard, and because there are semi-circular depressions instead of actual drawer pulls.

And the lights in the light bridge are too bright.

And we had to switch sides, because the new dresser has a mirror, and after having mirror-less dressers for seven years, I wanted the mirror to remain attached.

Okay, this reasoning is rather convoluted.

Anyway, I'd prefer it if the wood didn't smell like, well, wood. It's already given me a headache, on top of the headache I woke up with. I napped for four hours after my shower, and then we finally left the house, but all I really want to do is stay home tomorrow and rest.

Zorro seems to be stable, finally, he was still seizing this morning, after /three/ doses of valium. Poor doggy. Now he's just exhausted.

Cleo's still sick…we've put her on a fast til tomorrow morning. She doesn't seem to care, and I'm wondering if her recent 'accidents' are really manifestations of separation anxiety and lonliness.

And I'm craving egg products: Egg salad, fried egg sandwiches…devilled eggs. And I feel totally dehydrated. Argh.

Quite obviously, I've thrown coherence out the window so I'm ending this now.