HGTV has convinced me that I'm excited to be a homeowner.

Also, have you seen the show "Junk Brothers?" Two crazy Canadians steal their neighbors' garbage in the middle of the night, "soup" it up, and then return it without ever showing their face or providing an explanation. Insane amounts of fun! I love that freaking show.

For real.

I think I've decided to "go green." I mean, I'm still going to drive my car, use air-conditioning in the house, and refuse to recycle, but, you know, I'm planning on going green in other ways. For instance, I'm not going to use the styrofoam cups at work anymore. I'm going to bring my own mug. If I forget to bring my own mug, then I will of course go back to the styrofoam. A girl's got to drink, you know? Also, I'm thinking about bringing my own tote bag to the grocery store. That way when they ask me "Paper or plastic?" (which they never do anyways, they just choose for me), I can smugly reply, "Tote!" I've never seen anyone bring their own tote bag to the grocery store. I think if I start doing that, I will deserve some sort of awesome discount.

Those are the only two ideas I have now for going green. But a start is a start. Now to buy a mug and a tote.

Now I have babies on the brain, but not in a good way.

Saturday night dream: I had adopted a twelve year old, a five year old, and a baby, only to change my mind about wanting the twelve year old and the five year old. It was too late at that point, so I tried my best to deal with it. Leaving the bar a few nights after the adoption had taken place, I told a friend that he should come home with me so he could see "the kids." While in the car, I realized I had not fed any of the kids since I had brought them home. Filled with horror, I think I forced myself to wake up. Children need food!

Sunday night dream: I was the mother of two very blond boys, which leads me to believe that these two children had also been adopted. No way my fiery Mediterranean good looks are going to yield a couple of blondes. Anyhow, I had a friend over- a friend that I had not seen in YEARS- so that she could show me how to make meat loaf. She was irritating the crap out of me because she was taking FOREVER to measure out the meat, et cetera. So I kicked her out of my house. The oldest of my two sons wanted to know where the meat loaf was. Obviously, there was none. So my two boys went to work finishing up dinner while I drove off to see my new house being built in Volo.

So here it is: in one dream, I don't feed my children. In another dream, I allow my children to play around a hot stove. In both dreams, I leave them alone.

Why am I dreaming about children? Could it be:

(Note to mother in photo: If you'd like me to take this picture down, I will. But it's just so dang cute!)

Alas, I went to the track yesterday. Got drunk, lost forty bucks, found myself surrounded by smokers- BUT DID NOT SMOKE!! Granted, I wanted one pretty badly. But I held my head high and instead sucked down a basket of cheese fries.

I went to the track with one of my customers at the bank. Actually, he's not even one of my customers- just a guy who happens to do his banking at the same place I work. I had to call Chris for permission before I went because it felt a little weird, kind of like a date. But this guy's in his late 30s, married, etc, and I'm clearly happily married as well, so what's the big deal? It was an innocent good time, although I still feel like it may have been mildly inappropriate on some levels. Oh well, I had fun, and it's nice to make a new friend, so, whatever.

Today: bbq at Ocean's and Cassie's. I can't remember if Ocean is still a vegetarian. All I'm saying is there had better be meat available, or I'm so out of there!

It's been three weeks since I've put gas in my car, and I still have over a quarter of a tank left. I pondered this fun fact this morning while reading headlines in the newspaper such as "Americans Not Taking Vacations This Year Because They Can't Afford To" and "Americans Still Taking Vacations This Year, Gas Prices Be Damned." Three weeks! What does this say about me? That I live only five minutes from my job? That the bars and stores I've frequented lately have been within ten minutes of my home? That I've been the "passenger" lately more than the "driver?" That maybe my car has developed super gas powers, because I have, after all, driven to Plainfield and back, to Oak Brook and back, to Volo and back, and I still have that quarter of a tank left?

I'm going to see if I can ride out my quarter of a tank for another week or so. Or, fuck it, maybe I'll just bite the bullet and gas up right away when I go out today.

I worry constantly about money, but I always seem to have plenty of it. Maybe I'm richer than I give myself credit for. I think the media makes me think I'm poor. Either that, or I'm just nuts.

Tara's on her way over here with the baby. Woohoo, baby time! I was struck with the thought the other day that I think I might want a baby. I immediately pushed that thought aside, though, and opted instead to pour myself another drink. It's weird to think that I'm about the age my mother was when she had me. I'm going to surpass that age very shortly without having given birth. Granted, I feel pretty okay about that, but I know it bothers some of my friends to see that age come and go. My cousin, especially. She's about six years older than her mother was when she got preggers. It kills my cousin to keep having birthdays without having had a baby. But the times, they are a changing. We're getting married later, we're having babies later, and we're looking so much hotter and younger than our mothers ever did at our age. Ever compare a picture of yourself with a picture of your mother/father when they were the same age you are now? It's creepy. I am a baby, I am young, I look like a kid. When my mother was in her mid to late twenties- well, she looked about forty.

I exaggerate. I always do.

I have, however, started to use an age-defying moisturizer. Just in case.

Smoking Update:

I am writing now how proud I am of myself simply because I am craving a cigarette so badly. I tried to go cold turkey but found myself confronted with chest pains, insomnia, and headaches. Instead, I've allowed myself a couple per day. Which, let's admit, is a great reduction, considering I was up to almost a pack per day. I have not purchased any cigarettes for myself all week and have instead relied on the kindness of friends to provide an occasional fix. All in all, in the past five days, I have smoked less than I usually would in one day.

And I'm proud of myself, even if it's not a "cold turkey" situation. Gigi overheard me at work today after one of my not-so-cold-turkey moments and sent me an inspirational email, font size 62. "Stop putting yourself down," it said, or something very close. "You're doing phenomenal," it continued, or something very close.

And I am doing phenomenal. All things considered, I'm doing fan-fucking-tastic. I may even take up a sport.

Hopefully, I will be completely smoke free in a couple of weeks. That's my goal. I don't want to smell like smoke, taste like smoke, look like smoke. And I'm serious about taking a trip with the money I save. I can't think of a better way to reward myself.

So far: $30 in the pot. A $30 vacation would totally suck. Better wait a couple months and be sure to add in the magic of compounding interest.

This headline caught my eye today:

Toddler Ruins Monks' Sand Design.

Fricking awesome! I didn't think the article could be any better, but it kind of was:

KANSAS CITY, MO- The little boy spotted the pretty pile of colored sand on the floor of the vast hall and couldn't resist. Slipping under a protective rope, he danced all over the sand, ruining the carefully crafted picture.

Never mind that it was the creation of eight Tibetan monks who had spent two days cross-legged on the floor of Union Station, meticulously pouring the sand into an intricate design as an expression of their Buddhist faith.....

Of course, being Buddhist, the monks didn't mind. They're basically just going to start all over, no big deal.

Any other religion, and there would have been hell to pay. Or at least a pretty rough spanking.

With the money that I am saving on cigarettes, I'm going to take a vacation. It's amazing how much I'll have if I keep stashing away what I "would have" spent on smokes. Not that money is my reason for quitting. But it's certainly a nice bonus.

Now, where to go, where to go.

It's so nice to feel so positive about quitting. I really feel like I'm turning a corner here. Go Jackie. You rule!

It's been twenty-seven hours since my last cigarette, and that was a "mercy" cigarette. Before the mercy cigarette, I'd gone about six hours. Pretty impressive. Although I have a very strong feeling that tomorrow, on my way to work, I'm going to stop and buy a pack. Hopefully, it will take me a week to smoke that whole pack. Hopefully, I won't smoke more than two or three a day. Doubtful, considering I have two work functions that take place at bars this week. Doubtful, considering I have the willpower of a noodle. Whatever that means!

But, hell, it's been twenty-seven hours.

Why did I even start smoking? I'd like to blame Carole for this, but that's not really fair. She didn't shove the cigarettes down my throat- I begged for them. And then, one day, Carole decided to quit, cold turkey. Before that, we'd been proud of ourselves, of the massive quantities of alcohol and tobacco that we could intake before barfing. But she left me alone in the land of smoking. Of course, then I met Chris. If Chris had been a non-smoker, I'm pretty sure I would have been able to just stop then and there. Of course- whatever. It was me, it was always me.

I missed Dan's show again this week, and I'm feeling pretty guilty about it.

And today, we looked at refrigerators and washer and dryers for the new house. What a sick feeling that invoked- now, suddenly, I'm in the market to purchase appliances? Yikes! What scares me is that Chris seems to know exactly what he wants- ice maker for the fridge, a certain capacity for the washer. How the fuck.... I don't know if these are educated choices on his part or if he's just playing the part well, but I'm freaked out about the whole process. Is there such a thing as making the WRONG decision about a refrigerator and then living to regret the purchase to the point where YOU WANT TO SLIT YOUR WRISTS? I don't know if I'm ready for such major events in my life. I don't know if I'm ready for anything, anymore. I'm having nightmares, I'm drinking a lot- Lord, why did I give up smoking NOW?

I deleted my MySpace profile. Couple reasons, but mostly because I don't want the IT department at work to find me on there. Not that I have anything even remotely imflammatory on there- but it's better safe than sorry. Also, I'm going to be 27 in a few months. Time to stop being on MySpace and time to start buying some appliances. Right????

Thank you for a wonderful day, Gigi. And thank you, MV, for bringing me to the race track on Friday after work. Next time we go, we're totally wearing big sun hats.

So much strangeness now. I'm drowning then I'm flying. And I'm in the process of quitting smoking, or at least cutting down severely. It's easier now because Chris wants to quit, too. We'll see how long this lasts. I've said I was quitting before, and it just plain didn't happen. But if I can avoid situations where everyone is smoking- then I think I might be golden. The smoking ban may actually end up being a good thing.

Well, gas is at an all time high. I could pretend that I'm not obsessed with it, but that wouldn't be true. The Citgo nearest my home is $3.69 a gallon. Holy crap! Whose fault is this? While there must surely be a myriad of reasons for why I have to take out a small loan to pump gas into my little car, I mostly want to blame the SUV drivers of the world, the little blonde woman I saw today on the streets sitting behind the wheel of a ridiculously excessive Hummer with its air conditioning on at what was probably full crank. Sometimes there is a valid reason to own a gas-guzzling monster. But here in the suburbs- there's usually not. No wonder the rest of the world hates us. We're socially irresponsible. There should be the biggest mother-fucking tax you've ever seen tacked on anything that gets less than 28 MPG on the highway. Granted, I just picked a totally random number. But you know what I'm talking about here. For the first time ever, I want to start a grass roots movement.

Went to the dentist today for what should be the last time in 2007. My insurance benefits have officially run out. What a run we've had, my dentist and me. We shook hands as I was leaving, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only one who kind of wanted to hug. Six long months. Thanks for the memories, Dr. S!

Here's something that I think is hilarious. I can't capture this in a picture of a picture, which is what I did below, but in one of my baby pictures, there is an ashtray behind me. An ashtray! So they lied to me, those bastards. My parents smoked when I was a baby, stubbing out their cigarettes RIGHT BEHIND ME. Aha! Oh, glorious day, to discover that my parents were smokers with a baby. I don't know why I'm so fucking thrilled with this discovery, especially since it means they were harming my little pink lungs, but it makes me want to jump up and down and point my finger in their faces. You're not perfect either! You smoked WHEN YOU HAD A BABY IN THE HOUSE! So don't you dare judge ME. I don't even have a baby.

I love finding flaws in people. I love discovering lies. We never smoked. Oh, we'd never do that. Smoking is so bad for you. Really? Oh, really? Then why do I now have in my possession a baby picture that includes an ashtray?

Yee-haw.

I need a hobby.

So my mother brought over a handful of pictures today. They're all of me, spanning birth, the toddler years, and then one lone of me at the age of 13 shaking a Christmas gift. I don't know why she gave me these, and what I'm supposed to get out of them, but I can't look at these pictures and believe that they're truly me. The picture above of getting a bottle while in the baby chair- that could be any baby. It could be a baby that I would like to hold, that I would coo at in the mall. To try to understand that this is myself at four months old- it's too surreal for words. I was once tiny and cared for and had no understanding of anything besides nutrition and sleep and warmth. And now look at me, I'm a mess.

Does anybody really stop and think about where we all came from, that we were all once these creatures that came helplessly shooting out of a woman with no freaking idea of what was going on? That we were all BABIES once? I think of babies as a separate entity from actual people. Maybe it's just because I'm not mother, but babies, in my mind, don't logically grow up to be children and adults. They just exist in their cuteness and smallness and then are eventually replaced by humans that are able to speak, walk, worry.

Sidenote: I like my mother's sweater in this photo. I wonder if she still has it.

Additional sidenote: Here's a photograph of some tilapia, pre-oven time.

When you're too busy thinking about lost time and lost sweaters to go out on a high note, try your best to go out on a random note.

What the fuck is going on with The Sopranos? Where is it all leading to? We're running out of time!

I witnessed a car accident on Friday. Am I supposed to stop for things like this? If I see an accident and see exactly what happened and whose fault it is, am I supposed to pull over to the side of the road and give a statement to the police? I don't know- I kept driving. So did everybody else. But I was shaking while I drove, my foot trembling against the accelerator and my fingers fluttering and dripping sweat around the steering wheel. It wasn't a bad accident. Nobody was hurt, from what I could tell. There was just the squealing of brakes, smoke from the burning rubber of the tires, and a loud, ominous CRUNCH. And it made me remember getting into a car accident when I was a kid, when my mother slammed into the side of a truck and we went spinning across all those lanes of traffic. Nobody was hurt badly. My face was cut up, and my mother's legs were bruised, but all things considered, we walked away unscathed. "God was watching us," my mother kept saying, and I thought to myself that, if God actually was watching, why were we in the accident in the first place? I cried and cried and cried nonetheless. And the Monte Carlo- my parents talked for years about what a great car that had been and how my mother had been stupid enough to somehow hit a truck. But whatever. I guess these things happen. On Friday I just kept driving, carefully.

Work has been ridiculously stressful the past few days. I don't know about you, but when I feel overwhelmed and stressed out, I have two ways of coping: crying or becoming inappropriately rowdy. Happily, the rowdiness beat out the crying this time around. So at least that's something!

There's a lot of things going on right now, work just being one of many things on my list. Thankfully, Chris and I are no longer sharing a car as he got his back from the mechanic's tonight. However, it sure cost us a pretty penny to get it fixed. The combined amount of what we've spent on our cars in the past three weeks has pretty much cemented my fate for the next few months. I'm not going out for a while. And then, of course, there's the house. The house, in general, is very exciting, seeing as how it freaking rules. Wait until you see this veritable castle. But one must of course consider the finances. The mortgage approval process. All of the meetings and decisions. It's enough to make a mostly sane girl go crazy.

Go crazy? Don't mind if I do!

But the days are flying, one turning into another with barely the blink of an eye. We put the air conditioner on today without even thinking about it. When did the dead of winter turn into the heat and humidity of spring and summer? I still have my winter coat draped over a chair in the dining room. I haven't stopped wearing my boots yet. What the fuck?

Finally, a lot of my work friends have gone to see this psychic. She's visiting from Florida, costs $75 for a half hour, and is apparently dead on accurate. She's amazing. She's truly got the gift. My money issues pretty much preclude me from going to her, but I thought about it today. Do I want to go to a psychic? Am I ready to handle it if there's bad news in my future? Perhaps I'm better off just blindly coasting off into the twilight with nothing in my head but a small- very small- amount of optimism rather than the ugly words of what could potentially become my own self-fulfilling prophecy.

However, if I knew for a fact she'd have good things to say, I'd plunk down my $75 in a shake of a lamb's tail. Peace of mind is definitely worth $75. Since it could easily go either way, I'll just put another payment on my Citicard.

After a strong margarita, I'll take a piggy back ride from anybody that offers. I don't even know this girl!

Walked three miles yesterday for the NOCC. Most exercise I've had in months. Today my legs hurt. My knees don't want to bend properly. I slept like a rock last night. All because of WALKING three miles. The fact that I am this out of shape is incredibly sad.

Poker last night. I lost twenty dollars, Chris won twenty dollars. Marriage is: breaking even.

I'm going to work on being more phony. It's the only way I'll get ahead in life. I need to learn to pour a little sugar on my day to day dealings. I need to be flirtier, cuter, sweeter. Kinder. Openly kinder.

Now it's Chris' turn to have car problems. In the span of a month, we'll have spent more than two grand on car repairs. I'm ready to throw myself off a bridge. The closest bridge to my home crosses I-90. This will surely make the news. I just hope I don't hurt anybody else when I do it. The guilt will kill me if the impact doesn't.

I'm reading a horrible book. I thought it would be quirky and funny, but it's just about some dumb woman trying to find a man. Except the author isn't trying to portray her as dumb. She's going for quirky and funny. But quirky and funny is so last year.

I hate everything.