I'd been awaiting the release of the movie Brokeback Mountain since like last January, and on Friday it finally came to a theater near me. I'd mentioned to basically everyone I know that I was going to see it because, holy crap, Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger in love in Wyoming, and they'd be like, "OH MY GOD! I KNOW! Totally hot! I mean...yeah, hot...but I'm also a little grossed out. Just a little." Fuck that. I decided that the only person with whom I could share my unabashed joy in sweet cowboy lovin' was my own self (and a dark theater full of strangers). So anyway, yeah, I saw it, and...since then I've been stumbling around in a fog (an even thicker fog than usual, I mean). Okay, I just deleted a whole thing on how angst-filled epics are an even stronger aphrodisiac for me than hot gay boy-sex so as to not make everything about myself. The point is, this movie is AMAZING: quiet and lonely and melancholy and genuine and I won't go into detail because I know I freak out when I'm the least bit spoiled for a movie but I recommend everybody see it so that I have somebody I can talk about it with, and I don't have to go cruising on internet message boards to get my fix.

Christmas was good as usual. My sister got me a Totoro shirt that she bought in Thailand and I almost died of happiness. I have more to write but I'll do so later. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

So I'm back in Oxnard. I won't go through the laundry list of my last few San Diego activities, but they were ROCKIN' like a HORSE, even though lasertag didn't end up being among them. Someday I will find my lasertag-loving brethren, but for now I had to settle for yet another game of Tetris Attack.

Lately I've been shopping for Christmas presents and dreaming about disaster. I've been having to contend with the dilemmas of the ages, such as, should I study Russian, or should I perfect my rendition of the spoken interlude in the extended version of "Filthy and Gorgeous" by the Scissor Sisters? Should I clean my room, or deep-condition my hair? Should I tackle my financial aid and scholarship issues to ensure I can start school in January, or should I do a crossword puzzle while listening to the Flaming Lips? They say you're supposed to reward yourself periodically for doing unpleasant activities, but my problem is that I reward myself even if I don't do the unpleasant activities, to make myself feel better for not meeting my responsibilities. Fuck!

My sister drove up from San Diego late last night (I came on the train the day before. Stupid.) and beforehand I realized with horror that I had not gone to In-N-Out yet. For non-Californians, In-N-Out is the BEST FAST FOOD PLACE EVER and refuses to franchise, which means it only exists in Nevada, Arizona, and my home state. If you're so inclined you can read all about it at WIKIPEDIA. Anyway, usually I appreciate having my health-watchdog sister around because I really do eat better when she's yelling at me about saturated fat and serving sizes and so forth. But sometimes what a girl needs is a peaceful stop at an ethical fast-food joint, blissfully ignoring the fact that she's eating her RDA of fat grams for the next week. So I zoomed over to the Esplanade and I got a lettuce-wrapped Double Double with grilled onions, and an order of fries, and I came back home and ate it with a side of grape tomatoes and a big glass of milk, and then for the next five hours I felt like I was going to die, but it was SO DELICIOUS and I have NO REGRETS.

Yesterday was a good day. In the morning we went to the Hillcrest farmer's market, and I bought this strange "magic" tea. Ooh, magic! I also bought sundried tomatoes and tamales. I almost bought the most adorable puppy I had ever seen but my lethargic impulse control kicked in at the last minute. It was like a people-watcher's playground. County fairs, amusement parks, carnivals...I need more of those in my life.

Afterwards, we played (surprise!) Tetris Attack and Super Bomberman 2 for a couple of hours, and then my babygirl Sita came over and we played Cranium with the fam. There were three teams, and Sita and I came in a very close second place. Very close. VERY close, okay?

Now my sister is dragging me out of the house to "go do something." Whatever that is. Tonight: LASERTAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The lovely ladies of the Allen household have gotten me addicted to a game called Text Twist. Every winter break my sister facilitates my dependence on a new stupid computer game. Super Bomberman 2, then Tetris Attack, and now this. Anyhow, I DON'T recommend clicking that link unless you have a lot of time to kill or something you'd like to forget.

So the book sale sucked, and I ended up just getting three Stephen King books to start my (hopeful) return to academia on the right foot. I fell asleep after we got back, and when I woke up it was nearly dark. So my sister and I played Text Twist tag-team style until our brains exploded, and then the two of us walked the dogs and Bryson to the track of his old high school so he could run a couple miles. It was lovely, a perfect night. An enormous owl landed on the fencepost by the track, and in the dark we could only make out his silhouette. We got some grainy pictures, though - I'll post them later. If there is a heaven, it would be wide open spaces on a warm night, with dogs, and an owl.

After we came back, two of Bryson's friends came over and we played Cranium. It was Bryson and I against Kirsten and the boys, and we may perhaps have slightly lost, but just barely, okay. It was a good game overall. Tomorrow, we'll go to the farmer's market, and maybe see The Chronicles of Narnia (which I'm iffy about, but that's another story), and apparently decorate the house more, if that's possible. My eyes are drooping, so I'm off to the refrigerator. This time, I'm taking the heater with me.

I'm at my sister's boyfriend's mom's house in San Diego. It is decorated with: gorgeous Christmas tree, one two three extravagant poinsettia displays, wreath around the chandelier, advent calendars, wooden Santa statue, stockings, large sparkly candles, extravagant holly display, and...I don't even know what to call this...a long, red-ribboned fir boa wrapped around the banister. At least, that's all I can see from my perch at the kitchen table. Also, outside on the lawn there are reindeer made from blinking Christmas lights. Bryson's mom majored in home ec in college. I love staying here.

Except last night I found myself on an air mattress in the rec room, which is fine of course, but you non-Californians don't understand not only how cold it gets at night, but how averse the natives are to actually using their heaters. And I empathize - my Chicago heating bill came to $450 last month - but for some reason I told my sister that I didn't need a portable heater or an extra blanket, of course not! And then...cut to two am, when I'm huddled under my thin flannel sheet, wearing my jacket and my scarf, and cursing myself and my little dog too (the bitch's name is "pride"). By six am I said, "fuck it," got up, and crawled into the shower, where I lay under the spray for about half an hour, waiting for my blood to un-congeal.

And now, here I am. Eating cottage cheese and writing in blogger while the rest of the house sleeps. There is a chubby yellow lab named Snickers staring at me with mournful brown eyes. Okay, she just realized I wasn't going to feed her and lumbered away. Kirsten and I are going to a used book sale this morning. The books are....alphabetized. What an aphrodisiac! Time to go wake her up.

Whenever I'm back in Oxnard, I find myself - at least at first - filled with emotions, a strange tumble of hope and longing and melancholy, that I don't feel anywhere else. I think it's like emotional time-travel. I felt this way all the time during early adolescence, and being here rekindles those old flames. I'm so numb in comparison to the way I was. That's not necessarily bad - I don't know if I could handle feeling this way all the time. But I like feeling this way now. Anyway.

My sister surprised me at the airport on Sunday, and came back to Oxnard with my parents and me. She just left today, and I'll join her in San Diego on Friday. On Monday night we played Scattergories with my mom. We went shopping and I dyed her hair light brown. It's good for me to be around her.

I just watched The Crying Game with my parents, which was great. I'd already seen it but I was curious how'd they take it. Oh my goodness! It couldn't have been better. They didn't suspect a thing.

I thought I had more to say, but I guess I don't. I'm feeling a bit gummy-headed, and hopefully I'll be more eloquent tomorrow.

Nostalgic Leona's Post

Tomorrow is my last day at Leona's. When I told my boss Jay that I was quitting, he replied that he'd give me two months till I return and sheepishly ask if I can pick up some shifts. But on Thursday I found out that Jay's been transferred to a different location, and his last week in Hyde Park coincides with mine. Leona's just wouldn't be the same without Jay, so there's no way I can go back now.

I'm always whining about Leona's, but as with all my jobs - even the most-hated ones - some day in the future I'll be lost in some reverie about the past, and I'll find I miss them. And my constant complaints about that place notwithstanding, there's a lot I liked about Leona's. So, here, I will satisfy my urge for sentimentality and list those things.

• Swiping food from the salad bar in the back, especially the sundried tomatoes. Oh, OH! Those sundried tomatoes!
  
• The time we closed at two am, and instead of getting the hell out of there, the entire remaining staff slowly congregated around the TV for a late-night showing of Stripes on WGN.
  
• Making fun of the glassy-eyed, shellshocked looks on the guys' faces when they watched sports games on the telly, especially when they had $200 riding on the outcome.
  
• Those nights when you're totally on your game - when the timing of everything is just right, when you don't mess up any special orders, when you remember to refill water glasses and bring out extra napkins before the guests ask for them.
  
• Swiping kids menus and crayons and taking them to the back and coloring like hell.
  
• That when the kitchen guys call me "gordita," they totally mean it as a compliment.
  
• That time two guys came in and one was really chatty, and then he asked me, "So, have you ever been to Orly's?" and I said, "Yeah, just once," and he asked, "Did you like it?" and I went, "Eh. It was okay," and then he pointed to his companion and said, "He's the owner."
  
• That time a family came in and I waited on them and then at the end the grandpa took me aside and said that they'd just come from the hospital because his daughter had had a miscarriage and they were all feeling awful and decided on a whim to come here and had such a great experience because I was a great server and made them feel so much better.
  
• Serafin, the busboy, who would yell, "SISTER!" whenever I came in, who would sing, "I looooove myyyyy siiiisterrrr" all the time, and with whom I had a SUPER SECRET HANDSHAKE!
  
• Jay, my boss, who was so totally immature but still the greatest ever. The sulky little-boy look he'd get on his face when complaining. His failed attempt to teach me the first five letters of the Yoruba alphabet. That he'd let me beat him up when I was mad about something because I am a pathetic beater-upper, and his advice on how to actually fuck up a would-be attacker (go for the windpipe). He's just an all-around super fella, a true gentleman, the type of guy who drives you home and then waits until you're not only in the door, but have ascended the staircase and turned the corner, before leaving.
  
• My coworkers: Melissa, who tells raunchy stories in a gentle preschool-teacher voice; Feda, with her big mouth and from whom I learned the phrase "tap a bitch;" Vince and his strange and random stories and sayings; Tony and his love for girls with big asses; Mariella for being the funniest person alive; Bev and her crazy cracked-out past, and for calling me "Dan-ile" all the time because that's how my name's spelled on my receipts (grrr); Carlos for always carrying my trays, and for saying, "I know why Bev calls you Dan-ile. Because you deny your love for me;" and Josh, probably my favorite coworker of all time, who would go out of his way to make me laugh and cheer me up even when I was so irritable I'd have strangled a puppy. Josh was so great that even though he smoked, was a Republican, and had a girlfriend in Wisconsin that he'd conveniently forget about whenever it suited his purpose, I almost - almost - went out on a date with him.

DYING OF THE FUNNY

A news reporter stomps grapes on a raised platform, falls, and...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Obvious next step: TECHNO REMIX!

Note: it is OK to laugh at this because it turns out she was just winded and is now a weatherperson somewhere else (hopefully far, far away, for her sake). Actually, that she was just winded just makes it even funnier.

My boss just ate a pink styrofoam packing peanut for a dollar. That's hot!