I've decided that the bulemic cat's name is Poe, after Edgar, of course. And I think it's a fitting name because the little fucker seems a bit disturbed and is always meowing, and after awhile it starts to sound a little eerie. He's had a hard kitty life and I think he just needs some love, so now I'm on a mad mission to befriend the cat. Indeed, this is a reflection of how little is going on in my life.

I just got done laying in bed in nothing but my jeans listening to Evolve. I love this album. It's insane. Ani DiFranco at her finest. It's very much in the vein of Reveling/Reckoning, which I also am insanely in love with, even though it took me awhile to get used to her newer sound with the band and everything. But once you get over the shock of the difference, you realize how amazing the songs are and how far she's come as a musician and a writer. God, I love her. I actually just recently realized that I can be wholly devoted to her and her music and not have to try to be her. Which goes to say that I shaved my pits and bought new shoes that aren't, for the first time in three years or so, boots. Yeah, I know you don't care. But I felt the need to say something because I'm feeling mildly attractive these days. And I could attribute that feeling to shaving and wardrobe and whatnot, but it's really because I'm ovulating and my self-esteem always hits it's peak when I ovulate. And then I start to bleed and it plummets. These are the biorhythms that they don't talk about in psychology class.

I took Erica out to lunch today and then got a haircut-- just a trim really. The goal is to grow long, flowing goddess hair, but it'll never happen because it's too sad and limp to flow. So really the goal is to grow it longer than it is right now because I find security in hair that sheilds my face from unsolicited on-lookers. And the chick who was cutting my hair kept telling me about curling this and that under and special brushes and sprays and whatever the fuck. And I just thought: Do I look like I curl? My hair's board straight and doesn't like to be fucked with. Let it do it's thing. I always get a little afraid that they're going to pull the curling iron out on me and then the hairspray because styling really fucks with my aura. But she didn't. What a waste of money. My new goal is to find a friend who feels confidant enough to trim off my dead ends and save me from this salon hell.

Erica and I went shopping then because we didn't want to be at home and I bought some lovely unmentionables to wear just for Kim on Thursday.

So now, the whole family has caught on to the fact that Mom has been drinking quite a bit lately. My parents have also been sucked into diet mania and the "I'm fat" bitching is triggering my inner homicidal maniac. My step-mom refuses to accept the fact that having four kids (the last one only eight months ago) does not lend itself to a prepubescent supermodel figure. And I tried to explain to my father that a slight weight gain as one is approaching 40 is not unhealthy or unnatural. Neither one of them is even overweight. I hate this goddamn society. I told my dad to stop whining about the restrictions of his self-imposed diet and he told me, "I'm not whining, I was just saying . . ."

Just shut the fuck up.

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