It just hit me, I don't want to be here. I've finally outgrown this place and the memories it holds for me. My life is in California and it's pretty damn good. Free from the prejudices that seem to form people's identities here and most of all away from the goddamn humidity that turns my hair into a mess every time I walk out the door. My hair is telling me that I'm meant to be in CA. That's all there is to it.

But I'm exhausted and glad that she's okay.

Do people really perceive that websites largely run themselves? Is my perception of what the world thinks so jaded by working in this wacky web world that I don't know what people in other parts of the world think? I know that every feature, every little box on a website is more than just someone's idea, it's been through any number of designers, coders, producers, project managers, and QA (of course!) before making it to the site. That every little thing represents that collaborative effort and it's certainly not without substance.

That weekend was the first (but not the last) time I coded HTML in my sleep. Our boss had to go out of town so we put out all the fires in his absence. When he returned, he didn't think to ask us if we'd fixed anything and started responding to bug reports that were long fixed and closed. That's just the kind of stellar communication we had with him.

Anyway, my latest labor of web love is up and appears to be bug-free. That's really all I can ask for.

Yup. Fuckers!

But then, of course, I would have had my moment and I'd be jobless. Which, in Rudy's excellent verbage, would be a "pain in the ass."

I'll buy anything if it helps keep my carpal tunnel nonsense to a dull roar. So far, this mouse is a winner!

That's funny stuff, but it's not too far from the truth, at least not that I've seen in my life as a pale pasty white girl. There is a hidden language of white people that they don't use when other minorities are around. Usually, it's not overt racism, but little things like assuming that of the 2 men who towed Andrea's car, it was the black ("colored," the woman actually said to me) man who screwed it up. Using her own secret language of white people I said no, it was the "skeevy lookin' white guy."

But what is it about being white and around other white people that makes people think it's okay to single out the minority person as the wrongdoer, or to talk about "chinks" in MY HOME (which I share with an Asian person), or tell me an unfunny joke about some non-white ethnic group?

It's not the kind of bond that I'm looking for with people. Can't we start somewhere less obvious (and more interesting) than the color of our skin?

I'm totally grooving on disney.com's monorail navigation. The entire time I'm in Disneyland, I point out the monorail, saying 'ooh, look! Monorail!' regardless of how many times I've seen it that day.

We watched for a while but she gave up, only to return later and swipe not one but two mini-trees. Ever mindful of my Civic Duty (not doodie) I called the cops (this conversation was every bit as ackward as you're imagining-- "I'm not sure if you should report these things, but there's a woman with a spade out here and well, some trees are missing) but they said they couldn't do anything.

I just want to know why she's stealing trees.

When I moved to CA in 1996, Mr. Hot Shit™ (known to me at that time as Dan) flew out from Denver to drive with me, only I wasn't supposed to go to CA, I was headed back home, to lovely Ohio. The more time I spent in CA, the more I knew that I couldn't go to Ohio, that I was finally falling for Andrea and the possiblities here were just too fabulous to pass up.

So I called the mover and had them turn that truck around, depositing all of my stuff here with no real place to put it. I had to buy Mr. Hot Shit a ticket back to Ohio. I do feel bad that I robbed us of a good road trip (Mr. Hot Shit is the Master of Road Trips, I am merely the Bater) but my life has completely turned around since moving here. Andrea and I are coming up on 4 years of togetherness, I've abandoned my retail roots and work happily on the Web, and of course my salary has increased accordingly.

Bottom line: it's all good.

I can't wait for our big road trip. If all goes well, I leave for lovely Columbus Ohio in 2 weeks, where Amy will pick me up, then it's me, her, the open road, her lovely New Beetle and all the Waffle Houses we can find. That is, if Mr. Hot Shit™ will put us up for a night on the way.

Bon voyage, self!

In other news, I finally got a haircut today. Pictures forthcoming, but Ellie managed to break my webcam so it could take some time.

Chances are, I scared the crap out of these kids, and in the end, it's all about the dog, who made it inside. But I wish people knew how to say thanks.

Which leads me to the real question... When we have a child, what will the child's last name be? Even in the exciting world of straight people it's not as obvious as it used to be but for us, it's even less obvious. I like my last name, but people always get it wrong. Andrea's last name is short, hard to mess up. Most likely we'd combine them but use Andrea's fabulously short name as a matter of daily life.

All of us have little secret things that make us happy and unique. I listen to Hanson and pick my nose, and while I respect everyone's right to have these hidden pleasures, I don't think I can wrap my head around cutting and the motivations behind it. Whether it's classified as an illness, an addiction, whatever, all I know is that for my ex, it was a hidden pleasure, that in it's own way, made her happy when nothing else could. And that pleasure scared me.

We're not afforded any of the luxuries that straight married couples get automatically and I think the bottom line is, I don't really want to know who in either of our families would decide not to attend. It's easier to pretend that they either don't exist or just don't have the time to respond to my letters, even though they used to, faithfully, before they found out I was gay.

For me, there's no point in opening the discussion. To those people, I'm already a memory, why push the issue? I'd rather they remain in their ignorant bliss and I don't open up a world of hurt.

People will say I should push the envelope, that I should go out on a limb and open those discussions, but to those people I say 'pish! posh!' I push the envelope every day by being open about who I am and who I love with people who's opinions matter a lot more than my asshole relatives. You just can't change everyone's mind, no matter how much you want to or how hard you're willing to try.

But hey, miracles happen every day.

Saturday, we were about to head home when we went for another quick money-losing extravaganza in the casino. I was down quite a bit at this point and worrying how I'd get to payday with my remaining cash but bet $20 anyway. There I am, playing away, when I bet 3 quarters instead of my usual 1 and wa-la! I won 600 quarters!!

While I was waiting for my booty to register, this woman sat down next to me, put some money in the machine, and left. I assumed that she'd worked through her money but then Andrea sat there and said 'ooh, look, there's money in this machine!' I told her that it was bad karma to play it, but hey free money is free money. So she started playing and was losing nicely until the woman came back about 10 minutes later. This woman had fully expected all of her money to be there when she came back. Hello lady, it's a casino. Loose money is loose money and stops being yours when you leave it unattended. Of course, had she said to me 'I'm going to pee, can you keep an eye on my money?' I would have gladly done so. But I assumed that she wasn't coming back.

So....the woman, Andrea, and I have words about this. I'm trying to explain it to her, that she left her money and shouldn't expect it back. Andrea cashed out the remaining $3.50 that was in the machine and gave that to her but that wasn't enough. The woman kept yelling and finally called Andrea an asshole (as if that would get her $$ back).

Meanwhile, my big victory is dampened, but the change lady finally arrived to pay me off. We walk away and the woman's short ass husband follows us and does this kung-fu kind of move where it looks like he's trying to hit Andrea. But he was so short that it was just funny, I was trying not to laugh when he stepped it up and kung-fu'ed again, his big square glasses still making him a sad caricature of Bruce Lee. We walked away with Mr. KungFuManChu still fuming.

Guilt overcame Andrea and she wanted to give the money back, so we head back to the scene of the crime to make amends (even though the woman was a moron to leave her money there). Mr. KungFuManChu sees us coming and assumes that we want to hit Mrs. KungFuManChu, so he starts shoving Andrea and swinging wildly again, only this time it's not funny.

We eventually gave the woman her money back and I told her several times that Mr. KungFuManChu was out of line and could easily go to jail for his escapades. Then the woman tried to bond with Andrea since her son in law is Chinese too. Andrea was not in the mood for national pride and we got the hell out of there.

Lesson learned: if there's money in a machine when you arrive, cash it out and either leave with it or put it aside for at least 15 minutes. No 77 quarters are worth what we went through.

I really really wanted to get the PO�NG chair, so I could sit there and say "PO�NG! PO�NG!" but Andrea talked me out of it, since we already have a chair I don't use. Instead we got some duvet covers and duvets to be covered as well as a buttload of energy-saving lightbulbs. Don't know if they'll work but hey they look cool.

I just noticed that one of the suggested cast listings includes none other than George C. Scott as Janet Reno!!

Yesterday I drove Andrea around in my fine 72 VW Squareback, which is still covered in beyond.com decorations (looks much better than the rust underneath). She kept getting irratated because people were staring at us, then I reminded her that the car is sort of noteworthy.

I've grown used to the stares because they're usually followed by big smiles but I can see how frustrating the feeling is when you're not used to it.