Also, Shir - there was an article in the paper's Sunday travel section about street harassment while traveling and there was a mention of Hollaback Israel.

Wow! That's amazing!

Personally, I'd rather not be kicked anywhere.

Hear hear. But I'm a coward who fears violence.

Oh, I forgot to say, Shir, yes, you totally need to get into that program. And I think you have a really good chance; I mean, your CV is pretty impressive at this point.

My God, it's good to hear this. Thank you.

And I think next year is an East Coast year for the F2F, so it could work out really well for seeing people.

Pfft. Nevermind where the F2F will be. You all know that I'll be there and visiting you when I'll get my ass on your continent, right?

Did you receive the wedding invite? Reply, genius.

No, I have not! But as you know, m'dears, I won't be able to make it. But I still love you two. Let me know when you'll be back in Israel!

And now, my beloved all, I need to get back to cleaning my room and studying your (American) history. And maybe eat something, too. And I want to watch the musical sometimes later tonight. Busy, busy, busy.

I've lost raises because I wasn't doing the whole make up/different shoes every day/lots of fashionable clothes/serious attention to hair thing. One female manager took me aside and said that I really needed to expand my wardrobe, because having two weeks worth of distinct professional looking outfits for each season (on a $15,000/year salary--I just managed to have one week's worth of outfits), was a requirement for any woman who wanted to get ahead. This was the office where a female coworker who had major foot surgery was given a written reprimand for not wearing pumps a week later.

Meanwhile my male manager could wear the same trousers three days a week, and as long as he changed his shirt and tie and shaved every other day he was fine.

So, yes, I have paid a literal price for not adhering to the expensive and fairly arbitrary rules of proper female appearance. I've found the rules are a lot less strict in the non-profit sector, but that salaries there are--surprise--lower. Totally worth it to have the option of wearing my birkies every day, though.

Why does someone not own this? Jilli?

Shir, of course you have to get into that program. We'll still be here whenever you can make it.

ION, when I was clipping Harvey's claws a few minutes ago, I miscalculated, and made him bleed. In over twenty years of clipping cats' claws, this is the first time ever. I feel so guilty. He seems to have accepted my apology, but has retreated to his fortress of solitude - the heat grate.

Man, I can't even comprehend the quake and tsunami in Japan (and tsunamis elsewhere). I've just had my head down for 2 weeks trying to get through a mountain of shit upon shit.

I've got a memorial service for my uncle in 2 hours.

Work is unbelievable (my department is 5 people; every week of the past 3, there have been 2-3 people out every day; there is no way in hell we can keep up, and we were already behind, and all the crises get put on my desk, because literally no one else has bothered to learn anything about the nuts and bolts of what we do; when I've got an angry, confused BigBoss in my face wanting to know what "overprinting" is and why it would happen -- WHEN I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE PRINTING EQUIPMENT THEY USE -- I can't get any of the actual WORK of editing and typesetting done). Oh my god, seriously.

We have a dog staying with us until Tuesday (it had better only fucking be until Tuesday) because -- wow, this is a complicated story. The last woman who lived with Tim, some years ago, had kids. The kids had different bio fathers, both shitty and absent. So Tim, being Tim, started to have a step-father-ish/paternal-ish figure type relationship with them. Which is awesome. His ex moved to Texas 6 years ago, and her son, now 31, stayed up here. He's had run-ins with the law and whatnot, like you do. And he's been on probation for the past year because of a DUI. He's been out of work, staying on people's couches, and decided to move down to Texas.

Tim helped him rent a U-Haul, and on Wednesday they were going to pack it up and then ex's son was going to hit the road to Texas with his dog (a mix of Catahoula Leopard Hound and Mastiff, I swear to god. But small -- maybe 40-45 pounds). They went to the last place that his *mail* went (which is not where he had been staying) and there was a warrant for his arrest because he violated his probation, though I am not sure what the violation was. Possibly he didn't get notices about meeting with his probation officer, and then missed the meeting, and boom: warrant.

So they went to the justice center, ex's son paid a fine, and the officer told him that he would have to appear before a judge the following day (which would be yesterday, Thurday) to provide proof that he paid the fine. So we took the dog for the night Wednesday night, our dog was vocally disapproving of it, but we knew on Thursday ex's son would be able to hit the road.

Tim texts me yesterday morning to say that ex's son is serving 5 days in jail because when he got the DUI he was sentenced to 5 days but it was suspended as long as he met all the requirements of his probation. So, I guess the point at which you have a warrant issued for your arrest is when the suspension of the sentence goes poof.

So ex's son is in jail until Tuesday morning, and we have the dog until then. And I honestly, at this point, am beginning to believe that ex's son will never make it out of Ohio and we'll have his dog forever, which is not acceptable at all.

I'm still having some pain and discomfort from the maybe!herpes, so that's still freaking me out. If nothing has changed by Monday, I will call the OB/GYN back, but my understanding, based on A LOT of reading, is that this length of time is not unusual. It just hurts, is all.

And my social anxiety is ratcheted up SO HIGH that I lost my shit so bad Tuesday night at a group dinner. To be fair, the dinner started by us walking in, finding the other 10 people were already there and had left us seats against the wall that meant we literally (and I am using that correctly) had to climb over things and people to get to them. And then we sit down and I realize that getting back out is going to be just as hard, and I still have to pee every 45 minutes because of the pressure on my bladder from swollen lymph nodes from my maybe!herpes. So I have to ask if someone in a not-shitty seat will trade with me, and of course no one wants to until I explain that I need to get up and go to the bathroom every 45 minutes and I really don't want to have to climb out (continued...)

( continues...) (and back in) every time that happens and BY THE WAY, I shouldn't have had to explain that, thank you for the humiliation, maybe I'll just go back home. (All of which I said out loud).

So someone trades with me, but I'm now utterly humiliated and pissed and really ashamed that I probably embarrassed Tim by acting like an asshole. So at this point I just go into bug-eyed-stare-at-the-table mode for the rest of the night. Which probably ALSO embarrassed Tim.

And afterward we had a not-terribly-productive conversation about it, in which he told me that he understands that I can't handle crowds and that it's getting worse, and he supports me...and that if I don't want to get help for it, he'll "learn to live with it."

REALLY??? You'll "learn to live with it?!?" I think that fucking negates the part where you said you support me, Jesus Goddamn Christ.

So, yeah. I feel like I'm about to combust. I've been crying constantly since Tuesday night, including at work, which is, again, really humiliating, let me tell you.

And I *know* I'm not the only person who deals with bad shit happening. That's part of the human condition; I get that. I don't think I'm a special snowflake and no one knows my pain. I know that Tim is stressed BIG TIME about his ex's son and the whole jail thing. So I'm stressed and he's stressed, and neither of us are exactly being comforting to the other right now, which I get happens in relationships. I get that.

But fucking hell, I can't believe how much shit continues to pile up. I'm not handling it well at all. I'm not sleeping. I'm not eating much. I passed the end of my rope about 2 months ago, but shit kept on coming.

And now I have to get in the shower so I can go to my uncle's memorial service. (I didn't even mention this is service #2, did I? Service #1 was Wednesday night, 45 minutes away, and it was pouring down rain and I was leery abut driving at night, on teeny backroads, in the pouring rain. My cousin arranged that service, at my uncle's Eagles lodge. But my dad was miffed that my uncle -- who never went to church -- wasn't having a Christian service, so Dad arranged a second service at his own church for 2 days later [today]. Well, Wednesday night rolled around, and we suddenly had a dog staying at our house, and I had worked late because everything is bad. It was pouring down rain and dark and the service was 45 minutes away on rural roads, and so I called dad to tell him that I was not going to be able to make it to the memorial that night, but I would be at the one today. Dad -- who was understandably sad because he lost his second brother in 6 months -- was PISSED. Absolutely pissed. And I got pissed back at him. Told him that I had to make the decision that was best for me, and that I was still planning to go to the service today, and if going to only 1 service instead of 2 makes me a bad daughter/niece, then I will live with that, because I just don't think it does.)

So, oh my god. I am so sorry to dump all that, and now I *really* need to get in the shower.

(I remain anti-brackety hug. Sorry.)

Oh, God, Tep. You're a stronger woman than I am; I would've been twitching on the floor with my brains leaking out one ear about two and a quarter crises ago. No brackets, just sympathy and an earnest hope that any and all powers that be get the rest of the universe to back off and give you (and Tim) a moment of breathing space. Because that sounds unbearable.

Great googly moogly, Steph. I validate your assesment of extreme suckitude and continue to be appalled at everyhing you're dealing with.

Dear Universe, STEP OFF THE TEP. Thou risketh the mighty wrath of the Buffistae.

No love whatsoever,

Moi

Oh, God, Tep. You're a stronger woman than I am; I would've been twitching on the floor with my brains leaking out one ear about two and a quarter crises ago.

I have been, believe me, but...you just get back up because some new goddamn crisis comes along.

Because that sounds unbearable.

Pretty much.

Steph, Tim owes you mass quantities of chocolate. Actually, so does your father, but he isn't likely to come through.