on the way home from golden gate park, i calculated that i've done four endos in one month. i shared this with linda but she corrected me, "but this is a new month." okay, whatever. way too many even for two months. in fact, i did 2.5 just today. one of them wasn't a true endo, more of a tripple lutz sow-cow or some such thing. now i have a bag of peas thawing on my hip. Linda's in the next room fast asleep on the bed that i didn't even try to hoist myself up onto. it's just me and a bag of peas. and a couple of thawed pea puddles.

a little something i learned tonight: don't drink and operate crutches.

but a good day today despite my crashout. i got myself to the race when i could have bagged it. and boy did i try to bag it. but i'm glad i went. it was nice chit-chatting with the Bellas.

i'm experiencing a little pre-birthday funkage. went to the hairdresser to get my hair cut. Nina cuts my hair and does a good job except she pauses a lot when she gets to talking, or she cuts while she's talking and starts looking into the mirror at my face, and not down at my head where the hair is. "you know what I mean, Erika?" she asks, snip, snip, snip. "i'm mean he's a fucking asshole," she says. she's talking about Bush and still not looking at my head, a host of sharp instruments in her hands that could lead to certain baldage click-clacking away as if on autopilot. "uh huh, uh-huh" i agree looking into the mirror trying to redirect her attention back to the matter at head. "and that bastard Rumsfeld," she continues. she stands away from me and my head then with her hand on her hip, "you know what I mean Erika?" i've never been on a first-name basis with any person cutting my hair because --i don't know -- i guess i just knew it would lead to something like this. and i feel bad now because i'm thinking about ditching her and her politics and going down the street to Le Bam Beauty Express next to the gas station. maybe she picked up on the dumpage vibes; anyhow, she starts paying more attention to my head. but slowly she starts up again. "i don't know," she sighs and fluffs my bangs, what's left of them anyhow. "i get so depressed, you know what i mean Erika?" i want to be there for my hairstylist, understanding of her mood swings, i really do, but i only have an hour for lunch and about a 1/8 of an inch left of hair. the time has come for less confession, more focus. that's what i'm thinking. then she asks apropos i don't know what "how old are you Erika?" forty-two pops out of my mouth. she points out that she is forty-two also, born september 1964. i suggest she re-do her math, because i am 42 and i was born in 1963. (simple mistake -- she is after all a beautician.) now i know that if i were in the midst of a little Rumsfeld water boarding i would have come up with my correct age, but I swear as i sat there and let her mold my hair with a fruity pomade into peaks and crests which i would flatten immediately upon exiting her shop and turning the corner, i believed myself to be 42 on the verge of 43 not 44 on the verge of 45 which is of course on the verge of 50. thanks for the trim, Nina.

i voted

i cannot think of anything to write about but i must push down that pic of daisy because it's starting to freak me out.

i voted today. experienced just a moment's test-taking anxiety when i saw a pen but no bubbles to fill in. a quick peak at the lady next to me (had to really strain to see around the side of her booth) to discover that i was to connect the lines. ah-ha!

anyhow, i like voting. volunteers at the polling stations deserve a big fat raise in my opionion. nicest people. ready with their rulers to locate your name and address. pass you right along to the guy handing out the ballots. real friendly.

now why can't they work at the post office? it seems everytime i enter the post office on shattuck the clerk behind the counter is reaching for the "this window closed" sign and disappearing into the dark back room. or there's some blind old bat (appologies to the blind, the old and bats) who can't decide between judy garland, snowflakes or superheroes. i just don't get the facination with stamps i guess. i mean you lick 'em, stick them on your phone bill and they're gone.

but you know i used to feel the same about checks. I'd always get the boring pale blue ones without any design, maybe a faint stage coach in the background, certainly no puppies or wildflowers. but you know, i gotta admit, i like my new checks with stripes and retro flower designs.

i'm looking at them right now. can't wait to fill in check number 2325.

anyhow, polling stations are very soothing, especially after an early morning fight about cat barf. (which i believe i won.)

in fact, i just might go vote again.

precious