2004-02-20 - 3:52 p.m.

And time, like ants, goes marching on.

Friends, we have been burying hatchets left and right around here. Except now that I've buried so many in the backyard, you just know that when it comes time to dig them back up again I'm going to have forgotten where I buried them in the first place. So I should put a marker on them. A magic marker. What? I don't know. Leave me alone. At least I'll still have dead horses to beat a little bit more. Which is only slightly more fun then beating the crap out of Kate at Simply Charming for giving out my whereabouts to that lemon frosting-filled cannonball known as Dottie.

Is anybody else lost? I'm not. I have a big black X scrawled across my face. Well, it's not so much "black" as it's "burnt seina" and it's not so much an "X" as it's "a giant relief map of Alger Hiss." Good God almighty - is this going to be one of those kind of entires?!

Yes, friends. I think it is.

Weddings, weddings, who's got the wedding? More appropriately, who doesn't got the wedding? Peter's is fast approaching and I just got Shannon & Matt's "Save the Date" flyer/pamphlet thingy in the mail yesterday. Ok . . . so I guess that only makes two. But still. It seems like wedding fever around here lately. Maybe it's just the catnip. Rich is now, at least according to Chad, out of the wedding festivities. I have yet to hear this from Rich himself, but then again, I haven't heard from Rich since Ben's birthday, so I imagine Chad's info is on the up and up. It seems likely that the only LA cats that will be going to Pete's bachelor party are Jeff, Ben, Jimbo and myself. But McLaughlin and TC are still definitely wildcards. Well, McLaughlin is always a wildcard. TC is more of a Devil's Bedpost. Scuba diving and bungee jumping have come up as possible ideas to spend our time in Key Largo - that is, when we're not drinking, eating, and fastening Peter to a rabid donkey. Mark my words, (go ahead, mark them), that by the end of this bachelor party I will have somehow corraled a donkey into our plans. Isn't anyone a traditionalist anymore?

I feel like I'm living in some sort of weird Alias time loop. I watched the "big crazy Super Bowl episode" from Season 2 with Hayley the other day, which, after watching with my Dad last month, and my Mom the month before that, makes it approx. 8 times that I've seen it. And it only hurts my head more when Brooke and I watch the Season 3 episodes on Sundays. Well, every other 6 Sundays it seems . . .

So Mordecai has been making the scene lately. It's true. It's been a long (four year) wait, but he's here, and he's acquatic, so get used to it! Or something. He's a real beauty. He's quite the illustrious Manta Ray and he's ALL MINE. He goes by Morty for short - but I don't suggest you call him that or he will look at you quite askance. And when cherubic cupids aren't busy trying to get him to fall in love with overstuffed heart pillows he's really quite the ladies man. Can you blame him? With so many fine Asian women lurking around the FRM he has his hands . . .eh, fins full. [Pssst, don't look now, but Mordecai has the Yellow Fever!]

"Baby, I'll be full of whatever pride you want - just as long as it's not Laos. They just rub me the wrong way. You understand.

Anyway . . . I should really get going. Al-Y's in the catnip again and she's starting to claw at the Big Belly Banks and asking where her cupcakes are. People . . . she never even HAD any cupcakes.

It's been real,

Tsuikage

�

<-- Back to the Salt Mines! - Onward, to the Bee-Mobile! -->

�