My oh-so-productive day ran out of gas around 4:00, when I took a "short" dinner break (yay for Chinese food delivery!) that lasted until, oh, now, and is continuing until I get done online. All this rain just made the day too blah for me to get the energy to continue packing, but I'm awake now and will more than likely finish off the clothes packing (except for those I have to wash tomorrow morning), wash the dirty dishes, and scrub out the kitchen and bathroom before going to bed. Tomorrow is laundry, finish taking out the rest of the garbage (dumpsters are already overflowing from the various units being gutted--I'm not the only one moving before May 1), get the newspapers and pack up the kitchen, and take the cat to get her claws trimmed.

I was going to make a run tomorrow up to the new place with some clothes and to make sure that the place is ready for me, but I figure I'll just call tomorrow afternoon and make sure it's cleaned up and then load up the more fragile items into the car Monday morning.

Today I went to the Farmers Market, spent six hours cleaning an apartment, including tearing up carpet, and I then went out for dinner with the Haligonistas. I think there was supposed to be drinking but we were too pooped to pop. I know I was.

I still have a movie to watch that due at the rental place at mignight. I might get the movie watched but I don't think I have the energy to make it outside again.

I also slipped getting in the shower this afternoon and whacked my leg against the tub. I can't decide if my legs are so from all the standing and stooping today, or if they're sore from almost doing the splits over the edge of the tub.

I think a chestnut brown with lots of highlights would look great on you.

You know, that's pretty much what I told my hairdresser, and what she thought would happen, but as it turns out, the red in my hair refused to die. Or Dye, or something.

Maybe next time.

ita, I totally knew that, about Numbers!

Well, Mister Kitty is home. He's still pretty pathetic. He's going to be shut up in the bathroom with food and water tonight, in case the theory the staff had is right (he ate a whole can of food last night, but only after everyone had left.) He won't eat now. He just gets up to go pee, or to climb onto my lap. He hasn't meowed at me once. I squirted some chicken broth into his mouth a bit ago. he wasn't impressed. He's on antibiotics and the bloodwork from this morning was good. So, wtf?

No matter how this ends, there are going to be a lot of tears in the meantime, I think.

Poor sara, and poor Mr. Kitty.

Aw, Mr. Kitty, feel better and eat something. Okay?

Oh, at least he's home with you, sara. That's better than you wondering and kicking yourself for not visiting enough.

ita, I totally knew that, about Numbers!

Cool, huh? You might not be training, but you've been marked.

Just back from Inside Man. Chiwetel Ejiofor (I'm trying to type that without checking...dude! Got it right!) has a much better American accent than Clive Owen. No strangled Rs. I wonder if Clive could do the same accent Chiwetel was.

That's a movie that could be reduced to Denzel, Clive, and Chiwetel glaring at each other, with cameos by Willem, Jodie, and Christopher. I mean, I liked the story, and stuff. I just think it's a wasted marathon-glare opportunity.

Went to Olympia Procession of the Species parade. Fun in the way a parade in a small funky town can be. People put amazing effort into their costumes. For example the people who play turtle by putting shells on their backs, laying on their tummys on skateboards and using their hands and feet to push along the whole parade route. Or the guy who plays a potted plant by dressing in a plant costume, walking along in stilts, the stilts stuck in decorated to look like peat pots.

But at the same time there is the charm of people being who they are, and not caring if anyone likes it. For example there were the belly dancers in flame costumes. It included an age range from 15 to 60, one or two male belly dancers in drage, and one very pregnant belly dancer with a tatoo on her belly.

This particular parade tends to have a lot of doves for a number of reason, Rachel Corrie among them. This year, one of the doves was sitting an sticks of dynamite, having snipped off a still burning fuse in its beak and continuing to hold it.

Oh, at least he's home with you, sara. That's better than you wondering and kicking yourself for not visiting enough.

Just back from Inside Man. Chiwetel Ejiofor (I'm trying to type that without checking...dude! Got it right!) has a much better American accent than Clive Owen. No strangled Rs.

Also, this. I kept wondering why they couldn't just let Clive's character be foreign. His accent was no good.

why they couldn't just let Clive's character be foreign

Ya know?

Of course, I'm now finishing up that Dark Kingdom: The Dragon King, and the accents are hella random.