Heather might have the Heartbreaker Head Shake, but I have the Irresistable Invisible Platter. Go figure.

Last night I was accused of being the biggest Mint fan of all. I think I'm okay with that. Or I will be soon.

Since we are on the topic, let me tell you some of the reasons I love this place so. I'm sure there are more:

1. The new Olympic-like torches above the stage.
2. Remembering why we're so good together.
3. As aforementioned, the unisex bathrooms.
4. Frank, the bribeable KJ.
5. That I get to say "KJ."
6. Meeting friendly drunk people and getting into inappropriate limos.
7. Pictures like this.
8. Sometimes you get to sing, sometimes you get to play a plastic guitar,
9. And sometimes you get to explain that you're not a stripper, just a karaoke-er who likes to dance around.
10. The joy of it. The sheer joy of it.

I have blue glass at work that I am famous for carrying around to all our meetings. (And believe me, we have a lot of meetings.) Today I realized that the blue actually comes from some sort of dye/paint, which is now chipping off and discreetly mixing with the water inside the glass. Could this be dangerous?

Last night was another banner evening at The Mint. Pictures forthcoming. All I can say is that I'm glad the bathrooms there are unisex.

(I have mentioned my recent problem of entering the men's bathroom by mistake? Surely I must have. This has happened twice, in the past month, once at the local movie theater and once at a bar in Kirkland, Washington. I'm certain it's some sort of worst-fears-coming-true punishment incurred for watching too much TV.)

Howard Stern read Cintra's article pretty much verbatim this morning, repeatedly referring to the author as "he" and claiming not to know who'd written it. Now I feel bad for her.

Artie also agreed that she goes a bit overboard and veers into zealot territory, which is when I felt bad for me.

I ran errands during lunch today and then went to get a Greek salad at this little hidden place I used to go all the time when I first started this job -- I was really lonely then. I still go every month or so (it's a *really* good Greek salad, with tons of feta and the perfect olives.) Today, I drove up to see an empty shopfront. Sad. The same thing happened with The Best Thai Place Ever, a little hole-in-the-wall in Boston where I first discovered Chicken Basil. This sort of stuff gets to me. Especially when I'm forced to get really bad Chinese instead.

Then, on the way back, I heard a radio ad for some all-natural Prozac alternative called "Blissium." I can't even find it on the web... Can it be real?

I love you Cintra, but today you embarass yourself because

a) The more bitter and worked up you get about the Hollywood establishment, the more you start to remind me of Halle Berry. and
b) It's Ryan O'Neal, not O'Neill. Oh, Salon!

(Note: I will admit it was changed to "O'Neal" halfway through the day, but that's still embarassing, isn't it?)

I'm like the dad who misses three visitation weekends in a row with his kids, then takes them to the arcade for 8 hours straight to compensate. Not that I'd know anything about that, of course.

I really, really need some new photo display software. Though I love the ease of Photoshop, I despise the fact that it will only order things alphabetically. Forcing you to add superfluous numbers or letters before image names, really disrupting the flow of the story. Other nitpicks: 1. No color or format customization, at least in my version of the software. 2. Photoshop's insistence on defaulting to today's date, even after you've adjusted that text line. I guess I shouldn't complain since it is ridiculously easy, and to date I've been too lazy to investigate other options. Ah well.

So I've decided to begin a study in labels and signs. I feel like I've already missed so many prime opportunities, such as the "Hick'ry Pit" sign on our drive up to Truckee. The problem with this project, I guess, is that it requires a good deal of pulling over to the side of the road. Maybe focusing on labels is more practical. I may start here, with the warning on the container of fruit dip last night, which reads: "Does Not Contain Fruit." In case you were worried. Or excited.

This new interest in Pabst Blue Ribbon concerned me at first, until I read that "Nature's choicest products provide its prized flavor."

Last night we also ate stirfry, drank wine and watched "Bring It On." Jess and Gareth fell asleep. I stuck with it, finding myself notably surprised at how much actual cheerleading (and how little witty irony) went on in that movie: Crossroads is leaps and bounds ahead in terms of plot development, if you ask me.

I took a picture of the Starz! pitchman after Gareth's apt observation that it must be unfulfilling to sell something that's already free.

Since I've been so slack-like regarding this here little blog, I feel I need to make retribution with a few items of note:

1. My Super Diamond t-shirt has arrived, and I love it.
2. We finished almost all 100 episodes of Buffy's first five seasons, with a few exceptions missed in seasons one and two. Honestly, it feels like an accomplishment. I'm not sure yet how we'll get our hands on a chronological replaying of the current season six, but I have faith.
3. Speaking of, Eliza Dushku's Faith is still my favorite Buffy character, despite the fact that she only appeared twice in season four and not at all in season five. She just had Buffy's number, and I love that.
4. I'm thinking of buying a new digital camera and am stuck between this fabulous-looking new Minolta Dimage, the ever-popular Canon S110 and this 4-megapixel Olympus. If you have any advice, e-mail me. I'm looking for something really small that takes great pictures. I don't care so much about fancy features and I'm willing to pay... Though the Olympus is a bit much.
5. We saw Andre Agassi play at the Compaq Center a few weeks back. I've always had a bit of a crush on him, even in his big-hair days.
6. I'm sure there's more but I can't think of it at the moment.

I'm uploading photos now from last night. Prepare for blog three of the day.

Since I promised to close out the car story, I will sum it up with this: The VW dealer had my car for an entire week, primarily due to the fact that their mechanics replaced the DRIVER side airbag when the problem was clearly (and allegedly, written on the work order) with the PASSENGER side airbag. So now I have two new, hopefully functional airbags in my little Golf. When I tried to explain why this was somewhat troubling, the customer service rep assured me, "Oh no, don't worry, that was only human error! Nothing to be concerned about."

Um, okay.

So, I have a couple of little updates to the car story. First of all, I forgot to mention the best part, which happened when I first dropped it off and got the rental. I had waited for about 20 minutes while the Enterprise junior manager ran around breathlessly, helping the queue of short-tempered clients waiting for their very own Ford Escorts. When she finally got to me, she filled out the paperwork, looked up at me and flashed a gleaming smile. "Guess what Allyson?" she asked. "We're going to upgrade you to ... " And I swear to god visions of Porsche Boxsters and big green Ford Explorers ran through my head.

"... power steering!!!" she finished, as the confetti dropped from the ceiling. Did you know they even make cars without that anymore?

Part 2 to come later. I'm a bit tired of talking about the car thing.

The four of us went to Truckee last weekend to indulge in a little east coast nostalgia. I refrained from skiing (just one of those things that requires coordination of 2+ body parts) but partook in snowmobiling on Sunday afternoon. The story:

It was fun, and beautiful, don't get me wrong -- but goddamn it was HARD! I know this sounds ridiculous but let me tell you that I hadn't been this sore in years; on Monday I could barely hold my body up. (I also haven't been this out of shape in years. Coincidence?) I chose to ride tandem with Bryan, because a) it was a lot cheaper and b) I envisioned kicking back and enjoying the ride, watching the scenery. BIG. MISTAKE. Apparently no one told me it would be 10x as hard to hold on for dear life as a passenger than it would be to be a driver -- I spent 2 hours desperately clutching Bryan's ski jacket, my helmet smacking his repeatedly as my neck jerked back and forth over the massive bumps in the trail, my ass flying all over the place as I tried to steady myself and prevent getting ejected into thin air. A pretty picture, isn't it? Sort of like riding a horse without a saddle at 50 mph, I imagine. With slippery, moving reins. The straight and flat parts were fabulous, and the scenery to die for... But damn, I was sore. Lesson #1: Always get your own snowmobile. The things you learn in California.

On the good news front, they offered and I accepted a hot pink Barbie helmet.

The rest of the Truckee photos teach us additional lessons in pool playing (don't fear the midget), 70s decor (nothing wrong with a couple of unicorns), and diner etiquette (it's rude to try to impress the most jaded of waitresses).

Is it a sign of something troubling that when someone asks how my day was, I honestly can't think of a single thing to say?

I've had a Ford Escort rental car for the past three days and I feel like a totally different person. Cars are funny that way. Reason being -- my VW was recalled for one oxygen-sensor-instrumental-breakdown problem or another. Actually, I probably would've ignored that for a while longer had not my airbag warning light gone on this past Sunday. I couldn't help but have visions of the airbag smashing into my face as I madly drive down 101, late for work as usual... Turns out it was the passenger side (whew), but that they need "The Upholsterer" to come in and make some incisions. Thus, the Escort. "Escort" is really an interesting choice of names for a car, don't you think?

Admission: I saw Crossroads on Sunday and loved every minute of it. In my defense, Lisa Schwarzbaum did award the movie a B+. Though I noticed that Britney and friends weren't wearing seatbelts for their girl-bonding/boy-loving road trip. Now what kind of message is that sending today's youth?

Something unbelievably awful just happened to one of my close friends. I really don't have any words for it.