2000-08-15 - 9:43pm

On the internal soundtrack: That Voodoo Chile song by Jimi Hendrix.

There was a thing on TV about him. I just found out that the reason Jimi Hendrix died (aside from the drugs, which is really his own damn fault) is because they strapped him on his back in the ambulance so he couldn't roll over to puke. That's terrible. I'd be tearing my hair out over the what-ifs if I'd been the one to strap him in. It makes me nuts wondering what else he might have done if he hadn't died so soon.

Well, enough with the morbid stuff.

SUNDAY 8/13

So we all got up real late, 'cause it was raining. K slept over an hour later than she usually does. We had put up black sheets over the windows in the guest suite to block out the 10,000-watt streetlights (I'm not really exaggerating; it's bright enough that I've washed my car out there at 10pm). S decided that she's going to put room-darkening window covers in K's room at home to keep her from getting up so early.

B made us an amazing taco omelet with ground turkey, spices, and leftover peppers from the cajun chicken the night before. Mmm mmm!

We all went to the National Aquarium, at which the following things happened:

- There were so many people crammed around the piranha tank for the 2pm feeding that it was disgustingly warm and smelly over there. Imagine what it was like for B with 300 unwashed protesters in his unit. Blah.

- I discovered that piranhas are nowhere near as exciting as I'd been led to believe. I couldn't even see their teeth, and they only poked at the dead fish that had been dropped into their tank. Very disappointing.

- Poindexter and I leaned in to look at some small tank recessed into the wall, only to discover that the previous tourist had left QUITE the fart compressed into that small space. Our eyebrows shot up and we backed out. Unfknblvbl. Had to wait about five minutes before it cleared out.

[Confession time: You can always get me with the bathroom humor. I can't help it. I don't know why. Farts and poops are just hilarious to me.]

- We saw a male firebelly toad trying desperately to mate with a female toad. The female was trying desperately to escape his clutches, hopping about and trying to pull away, and at one point even reached out with her front leg [paw? hand?] like a drowning person reaching for something to hold onto. Not only that, but another toad of inderminate gender was clinging to the back of the male toad and trying desperately to mate with him. Or perhaps they were all males. Gay or just confused?

I rather like the idea of gay toads. Homophobes are always saying that it just ain't nachrul to be gay, and they like to use the animal world as "proof" that it's always a male with a female. Somebody ought to tell them about those lobsters or some other marine animals that change sex depending on the male/female ratio in the immediate vicinity.

My feeling is that homosexuality or transgenderism is just one more variation in the many, many characteristics we consider "human". It certainly doesn't hurt anybody, unlike pedophiles or rapists, so I wish everyone would just mind their own business and get over it already. If you're grossed out by the technicalities, quit thinking about it. It's pretty gross to think of whatever your average straight couple is doing in bed together too, really, especially if you don't find them attractive.

Back to the attempted toad mating, sort of. When I took AP biology, I had to mate some fruit flies. Same thing happened: Male tries desperately to hang on while female wanders all over the vial trying to shake him off. There's an analogy in this somewhere.

This entry is turning out to be one big digression, but I believe I'm beginning to find my "voice". I may not have the clarity of writing of some of the other folks I admire -- Sarah, for example -- but it's me.

We picked up Thai food at Duangrat's on the way home, and the boys went computer-store shopping. We girls went to the park and I made myself dizzy on the wacky new playground equipment (it was almost like a stand-up version of a sit 'n spin). I don't drink, smoke, or do drugs, but I'm always good for a playground-induced head rush.

After dinner we played Pictionary, which makes me laugh so hard I can't breathe. The best part, I think, is criticizing each other's drawings when we lose a round. "What the hell is that? That's supposed to be a hand?"

MONDAY 8/14

So, the SBK trio left, amidst some boo-hooing on my part. I swear, having them around is so comfortable it's almost like not having guests at all. Really the only difference is that we can't get it on in the living room like we might ordinarily. And I just have so much fun when they're around.

Not to mention, B did all the dishes in the morning, which was like the most wonderful Christmas present ever. Nothing like having someone else do your chores once in a while.

After work I dragged Poindexter out for a skate. He is doing fabulously well, even better than I remembered him last. We skated up and down the street along Holmes Run park, at least 1/4 mile stretch, which was much better than skating in circles at the elementary school.

After checking her blogger 15 million times today, I finally found out that Gnomeloaf (another great writer) had her kid and is doing fine.

TUESDAY 8/15

I wrote diary entries all day instead of working. Well, I did do some work.

SOME COMPLETELY RANDOM UNRELATED THOUGHTS

You know those Holiday Inn commercials with the deadbeat son living in the attic? "What does this look like, a Holiday Inn?" They're not captioned so I don't know what he's saying, but his whole demeanor and attitude just SCREAMS "inconsiderate slacker" and he makes me completely insane. I absolutely can't stand him. It just hit me tonight that either he's just like that in real life or he's a brilliant actor, because I forgot he wasn't a real person.

That "Woodstock" movie is on. I just love how everybody let it all hang out back then. Everyone's naked or nearly so, and everybody has a lot of hair, all over their bodies. It's great.

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