Interesting day. Wait a minute, it�s hardly 9am. What am I talking about here? Oh, it�s gonna be one of THOSE days, I shoulda seen it comin�. I have a wound on my forearm, looks like a track, I wonder if my coworkers think I�m shooting the horse. Cat nail puncture, so it�s a red dot, but for some reason (probably my intense allergy to felines), a little purple bruise has formed in a perfect circle around the puncture wound. Interesting. I could be a specimen for study, you know. Speaking of my cats, I almost killed them yesterday. Accidentally, of course. See what happens when I cook? Apparently, I didn�t turn our gas stove off ALL the way (like I knew that gas could still come out if the flame was turned off). It was leaking all day, and by the time my sister got home from work the place reeked of gas (or the scent they add to gas, you see natural gas doesn�t have an odor � the companies add the odor so that we can detect it, thank God), and the cats were acting as if they lapped up a 5th of vodka.

Poor little dears. Slurring their meow�s, stumbling off the table and onto the couch. After about 30 minutes of fresh air they were right back to normal. Oops. Tee hee. Heather and Sean stopped by briefly last night, you know their 4 year anniversary is tomorrow. FOUR years already! And a baby on the way. They�re so fucking sweet I have a cavity. I chatted with them for a bit, heard about Sean AND Jenny taking falls (eating it) at the soccer game they�d just finished playing. Jenny had the abrasions on her elbows and hands to prove it. They all went out to dinner (I had munched already on leftover raviolis) and I headed over to Pixie�s place for some girl chat. Sigh, missed her this weekend. She had a handful of pictures from a few different events for me to see (and some to take!). You can always count on Pixie for photographic documentation.

Left those pictures in my purse last night, I�m glancing at them now. God, we�re crazy. Fun Fucking Flock of Females we are. Kitty and Pony met up with us to go for a drink. Kitty�s friend, V came along, a sweet and generous guy with a bit of a slur (could have been the bottle of liquor he downed?) and more than a bit of a domestic problem. We had fun looking through his Asian Porno magazine, but as much as he prefers the tastes of the east, poor guy runs into nothing but trouble in the relationship department with his particular choice for a main course.

We all got to the bar, and after sucking down my Vodka Collins in record time, I needed to go. Pensive, staring blankly at the cartoon on the television above the jukebox, I suddenly wanted to be anywhere but right where I was at that moment. It was almost like what I imagine a claustrophobia attack to feel like. Panicky, filled with anxiety, but I couldn�t move. When I finally managed to get up, Pixie offered for me to go back to her place and have some much needed one-on-one girl talk. It WAS much needed. And it DID make me feel a hundred, no, a thousand times better. I was just in a weird space, that�s all, none of your business why. Ooh, BURN.

The girls came back a bit later, and we laughed and chatted for a bit before heading back to Kitty�s scratching post. As soon as I got there, I had my little �attack� again, and quickly said my goodbyes to my VERY understanding friends, and headed home where I could let my mind wander while my body stayed comfy in my bed.

One common theme throughout the evening was that men, for the most part, are completely oblivious. Or, if they�re not oblivious, they�re just assholes. Sounds harsh? That�s what girls do when they get together, boys. We talk about dick size/shape/color and how clueless, sweet, annoying, intelligent, idiotic, ideal, funny, sexy, and/or just completely retarded men can be. What, it�s the truth. I�m surprised the secret is kept so well. Men. Can�t live with them, and the Jude Law version of the perfect love machine is just not gonna be around in my lifetime. For now, I guess all we Venutians will just have to put up with Martians. Or become lesbians and spend a LOT of money at F street. Through all the shit and stink, though, I must say, there�s just something about men that never fails to make me tingle. Dammit.

-Barbarella

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