Hello, boys and girls! Welcome to Stream-of-Consciousness Theatre! (I think I stole that from someone, but damned if I can remember who.)

Gasp at the mutlitple meta references I feel coming on!

Watch in horror as I talk about nothing in particular!

No one under 17 will be admitted. No one will be seated within the last two paragraphs of the entry. Do not fold, spindle or mutilate. This offer not valid in Guam or the Virgin Islands.

This whole domain thing is giving me a headache. Apparently the e-mail I got the other day stating they couldn't complete my request was due to the fact that somehow I submitted the request twice. I don't doubt that I did, but I'm damned if I remember how. I think the computer I was using (my work one) got hung up and I may have hit the button twice. Not really sure. But because of that I put in for another domain name. Well, guess who got three charges on her Visa CheckCard? So I had to call and get that mess straightened out. And because all $210 came from my checking account, I got a $20 overdraft fee when another debit card charge came in. *sigh* I'm working on getting that reimbursed as well.

The first refund hit my account yesterday, which is wonderful. I should be seeing the second one tomorrow or Monday.

Of course, I really need the money today, because, due to some payroll mixup, anyone who submitted their timecard after noon on Monday (as I routinely do) and have direct deposit (me again) will see it hit their account at midnight tonight. I have to pay my electric bill today and was going to call it in, using my trusty CheckCard. Sure, it costs more, but this way I don't have to drive to pay it. I'm all about convenience and procrastination, baby.

Of course, now I do have to drive to pay it. Which means my whole lunch hour is gone, because it's a twenty minute drive there, then another twenty to thirty minutes in line, and twenty minutes to drive back.

With no money to pick up some cheap Del Taco drive-thru food on the way back, since my refund went to pay for something else.

I think I need to go for coffee. I'll be back in a few.

I'm back, darlings. Didja miss me?

I didn't just get coffee. I called the DWP and got an extension. I was planning on just extending my due date for a day, but the automated system gave me until February 14th, so I took it. I'll still probably pay before then, but it's nice to have that option. Procrastination 'R Us.

Anyway, back to the domain mess. The upshot of all that is that I get to keep my original domain name, which should thrill me to no end. However, I realized that I liked my alternate name better. While on the phone with the Domain Company's customer service, I asked if I could use domain #2. Nope. Oh well, the first one's still a good one.

It's been a week of little disappointments.

Still continuing with my Frewer infatuation, I found a video website that sold "Generation X", a 1996 TV movie based on the X-Men comic books. A very difficult movie to track down, so I eagerly awaited its delivery.

I had also won some Mike Farrell and Matt Frewer clippings on eBay and was expecting those to show up any day. Well, yesterday I received all of them. WooHoo! The mail was very, very good to me.

Until I opened up my packages. Most of the Mike Farrell clippings were taken from Star and The National Enquirer around the time of his divorce from his first wife. If I had known that I wouldn't have bid on them. The Matt Frewer clippings were quite sparse and didn't provide any new or interesting info (though the little clipping from the TV Guide about his stint as The Cat in the Hat is cute and there's a very striking picture from "Generation X").

Speaking of "Generation X", I opened the package from the video site. The box was damaged, but that's not what disappointed me most. The video, titled "Generation X", was not the TV movie I was dying to watch. No, my friends, what I got instead was an...NOEL! STOP IT!!!!

Sorry, I've been struggling with Noel over control of my hands. I think they should be typing on my keyboard. He thinks they should be petting him. So for the umpteenth time he jumped up on my keyboard tray, which isn't strong enough to support the 15lb. bugger. I had to yell at him and firmly put him on the chair next to me. Now he's sitting on a nearby table with his back to me, snubbing me. I've reached over a couple of times to stroke his nubby little tail, and he's responded by glaring at me. Oh well. I'll give him some good Kitty-Mommy Lovin' when I'm done here.

Anyway, instead of the 1996 TV movie, I was holding, in my lily white, oh so pure and delicate hands, an erotic video. No, not an erotic video. A porn video. Not one of those soft-focus porn films, either. We're talking hard-core, extreme close-up, way too much anatomical detail kind of porn film.

OK, so I watched a little. The box was open and I was curious. I've seen a few pornos and I even have one (kind of a middle-core type, I guess). After a couple of minutes I knew this wasn't one for me. I was going to return it anyway.

Though if Matt were in it...

On the upside...

As of this morning, I am Rob Rummel-Hudson's Official West Coast Stalker Babe. I asked his permission and he very graciously granted it. (Looks like lulling him into a false sense of security by always making sure I mentioned his wife and baby daughter in the most postive way in my e-mails worked. Or maybe it was my endearingly bad haiku memorializing his late gay cannibalized hamster.)

(His wife and baby really are adorable. So is Rob's devotion to them. Is it any wonder that he's the online journaler I want to stalk above all others? [Even above Stee, who is getting all sorts of female acolytes among the journaling community. I like Stee, he's funny and all, and he's an L.A. person who even works for the same company I do, but he's just not as special to me as Rob. Rob...])

Life has meaning again. Thank you, Rob. *sniff, sniff*

I've changed the kittens' names. (It's not like they answer to their names anyway, unlike Noel and Matisse.) I've never been too sure about calling them Mike and Matt. The names just didn't sit right. So now they're Edison (the fluffy Noel-alike who's incredibly fearless, like Edison Carter) and BJ (the black Matisse clone who's quite a loving guy, a la BJ Hunnicut). I like those names better and the little ones actually seem to respond. (Yes, I could be fooling myself, but I love hanging onto my little fantasies.)

(Confidential to left column: I have candy for no more blue left column. No monkeys or invisible pink bikini girls, but lots and lots of candy.)