What I learned today is that a brand new car is not immune to bad vibrations. I guess when I bought my car, I was still vibrating at a more dysfunctional level because the battery has died three times (granted I left the lights on each time - but still, it's a new car!!) and now the hood won't shut completely. While I may have fears that somebody is going to steal my engine, I know I can repeat the affirmation that "All is well in my universe." Today is a good reminder that money can't buy security or positive vibrations.

Just for today I can accept that not everyone likes jury duty. I, however, feel excited and honored to exercise my civic duty by sitting on a jury and standing in judgement of other people in our society. Oddly enough, not everyone shares my point of view. While I waited with baited breath for my number to be called by the bailiff guy, my fellow potential jurors actually seemed relieved when they did not get chosen. Do they not understand how important this service is to our society? Do they not understand that this might lead to one of us uttering the famous words "Not guilty!"or "Guilty!" Just for today I don't have to understand other people's issues with jury duty. All I can do is be of service and accept others for who they are. Just for today, I am more than willing to be a juror.

Just for today, I can volunteer for Good Causes...even when they are no fun. Being of service is not always fun, in fact, it can be downright abusive. Yesterday, I volunteered for a nameless good cause and spent the day on my feet being yelled at by petite older ladies who felt obligated to share with me how tired they were from working so hard...for free! While I wasn't really working as hard as they were, I was sufficiently tired and decided to spend some time partaking of the food and festivities (thinking, that as a volunteer, which means, No Pay, that it made sense to at least enjoy the food at this event). Well, needless to say the shame that I felt for enjoying my salmon burger, skewered fried shrimp, champagne and strawberry shortcake was not worth the deliciousness. The old ladies did not take any breaks (a fact they were strangely proud of) and stared at the remains of my strawberrry shortcake dish as if it were a piece of pornography. I tried to focus on the Good Cause for the remainder of the day, but was branded with the Scarlet letter of E for "Enjoyment." Nonetheless, I have to remind myself that I was of service and just for today it's OK to volunteer for Good Causes even if nobody there likes me.

Sometimes life feels as if it were at a dead stand still. I would try to grab the bull by the horns, but there are not only no bulls in the pen, but no other animals, like chickens or cats and dogs to offer me any illusions. All of my spiritual gurus, such as, Deepak Chopra and Marianne Williamson and The Power of Now guy (whose name escapes me - but he's really great, I promise) tell me to embrace the stillness, to settle into my inner being, to breathe. And when the time is right, perhaps there will be some movement in my romantic or work life. And it's at times like these when I need to fight the urge to say, "yeah, if I had your book deal, I'd be really spiritual, too." But such thoughts are not part of the new Stella. Just for today, I know to trust the dead bland boring stillness of my life and to trust that the seeds of tomorrow's harvest will be planted in this dead stand still.

...be-cuz, as a Recovering Good Girl, it's important for me to start swearing more.)

I also have to stop saying "hello" to every single person I see in the hallway, asking every pregnant woman I meet about her pregnancy, and telling people that they need to "start taking better care of themselves." Why do I have to be so damn nice?! I also have to start saying the word "No" and "Yes," in opposite contexts. For instance, I need to practice saying things like, "Yes," when people ask me if I'm too busy to listen to their long-winded story about shopping at Target (I know I have my own Target stories...but they're short...) and "No" when vampires ask me to be their therapist (I mean they're nice people, but they do suck blood...and that's just the truth...)

Just for today, I can take a small step towards recovering from compulsive niceness by using the F word in my blog.

I have a very long one. It seems to be growing even longer with age. However, I'm discovering the inconvenience of putting people on it who I would like to ask for favors. I mean, it's OK if they don't know about the the shizer list, but when I've told them directly it presents a problem. Perhaps, I should create a pause button. Don't think anyone will go for it, but it's worth a try.

Just for today, I can think twice before putting people on my shit list.

I was so tired last night I decided to do the wash, work on my grad school application, and finish watching "Angels in America" [which is the 80th movie to feature a black man as the spiritual savior to The White Man, who in this case, are several gay men with AIDS which he (the black man), ironically doesn't have.]

Anyway, I WAS TIRED. And, it's usually when I'm really tired that I decide to analyze the subversive messages in popular media AND conquer the world, all at the same time, and usually at some hour like 1:00 AM. It's some childhood button that gets pushed, the same one that had me writing book reports at mid-night during Christmas break when I was 9-years-old. Probably the same one that made me say things like "Mom, how would you feel if I washed the car AND cut the grass this Saturday?" when I was 10...By the time I was in college, I was really over the whole workaholism thing...it just seemed so fourth grade.

Anyway, last night I finally just got into bed without getting the laundry from the dryer, without finishing "Angels..," without typing one thing on my computer, and without washing my face (but then I got up and washed it because not to is just gross). And when I woke up at 5:00 AM with dreams of having to urinate, I walked into the kitchen and realized that the monster my neighbor put on the porch looks like a man, and I jumped.

I fell asleep and woke up at 9:00 AM and felt really well-rested, like I had slept better than years. However, I noticed that the electricity was off. Which made me wonder, if electricity contributes to my insomnia.

Just for today, I can write about being tired.

I have long sense repressed my "Inner Bi-otch," not to be confused with my "Inner Big Black Woman" or my "Inner Critic." Today I pulled her (my "Inner Bi-otch," who we will call Lucinda...for now), out by not being a good co-dependent, but keepin' it real real. Subsequently, I felt a lot of GUILT and a lot of SELF-ESTEEM. Such is the nature of our "Inner Bi-otch (she's a guilty mo-fo)." Um...why am I talking like this? Cuz it's fun!

Just for today, I can be a BI-OTCH.

Have scoured the Internet for a solution. Does anyone speak English out there?

Without naming names, I have to say that there genuinely ARE assholes in this world. And the problem is that they are in the world AROUND ME. And just because I try to take the high road and keep the focus "on myself," does not mean that asshole behavior doesn't live and breathe. While in general, I try to see the best in everyone and I try to embrace the child of God that is in us all, even in people like Jeffrey Dalmer and Dick Cheney, there comes a point where such tolerance is kind of inane.

And another thing, if I run five blocks in three-inch heels with five quarters clutched in my hand, I think writing that ticket constitutes this behavior of which I speak.

Just for today, I'm kind of pissed at the assholes in this world.

[I just want to first say that I know this site is badly in need of a redesign. It's really starting to feel like the jacket I wore every day in the 10th grade, like it's becoming part of my DNA. It only took me three years to get the short film this site is intended to promote (to people other than "gangbang porn"...gross!), so bare with me (or is it "bear" with me? I read about this expression in an article recently and now I'm more confused...).]

So, why was today from hell you ask? I think the Gods above intended it to be that way. And it wasn't just the constipation (OK, I know I said I wouldn't write about health/body issues anymore, but maybe that's what got me constipated...?!). It was just one of those days that didn't work as a day. And here are just a few highlights:

1) My doctor's office wouldn't accept my new insurance, despite the fact that they accept this insurance and my doctor of many years agreed to keep me on. Why did they not let me see him? Because it wasn't in the system...yet! (Can I rant about beauracracies for a while?...oh, let me finish on my day).

2) The parking kiosk only accepted cash (which I had none of).

3) The parking kiosk ran out of parking passes (after I drove to the nearest ATM and came back with cashola).

4) The girl at the self-check-out register at Ralph's took 20 minutes to figure out how to be her own cashier (we called for assistance twice). I tried to have faith in her, to be on her side, but in the end I just felt like an ass waiting behind her.

On a note of gratitude, I did have a nice talk with my mom, I didn't get into any car accidents, or attract parking tickets, and I didn't die...

Just for today, I can have a bad day.

The other night Salsa Guru told me that non-white people (Latino, Black) have economic problems, while white folk have different problem (he didn't specify, but let's assume they're psychological dramas). I'm not saying he's totally right (he also told me that it was very "white girl" of me to buy a song on iTunes...little does he know that it's really the conscious action of a recovering con-artist), but I respect the belief that money solves problems because I felt that way for many years . However, I must be getting whiter as I get older because it seems clearer that money isn't getting me anywhere...except taking me shopping (and then we're talkin' about some serious drama).

I got in a car accident on Saturday when this girl turned left in front of me. Even though my car was infinitely more %$#@ up, I consoled her while she cried and told me that this was not the right time to get in a car accident (what about me?). Anyway, after white SUV girl's quick therapy session (damn codependent upbringing), I experienced the absence of a comforting male presence to tell me that my car is safe to drive (or too *%$# up). When it comes to cars I become this helpless woman looking for a man to tell me what to do. I don't know how and why they work or break down (cars, that is), I just know that they take me places I need to go (I'm still talking about cars...sorry, I can't resist). To make matters worse, my mom wasn't reachable by cell phone. Needless to say, it was a not a good afternoon in my life or weekend (which ultimately improved). Without going into more drama and self-pity, I'll just say it was a white girl's bad day (and I'm not even really white, but I can't get into it now because I'm at work and have maxed out this distraction...can you tell I'm tired?)...

Just for today, I can avoid feeling sorry for myself.

I told Evil Flash Programmer that it took me a year to realize the extent of his evilness and he's lucky about that because his friendship is a rare exception to my anti-evil policy. He went on to say that he married his wife because she has chosen to be with him despite his inherent evilness. I responded that that's what all married men say and that's probably why I'm not married (that and the fact that I'm not sure I want to see the same person every day...)...

Just for today, I can be honest with my friend, Evil Flash Programmer.

I just got back from the Farmer's Market and am filled with high-minded, judgmental, moral disgust with the vibe of Casual Glamour (have all the hippy's been exterminated from Santa Monica?) that hangs over what was originally intended to be an earthy place to buy produce. You would think that these women were born with self-pedicuring toes and it was a child's birth right to have an air-conditioned stroller and organic arugula (do babies really need lettuce anyway?). They could at least give it up once in a while for all the Vietnamese pedicurist and El Salvadorian nannies who hold their world together like the crazy glue on my tore-up salsa shoes...(sigh). I think everyone needs to get over themselves (including myself).

Just for today, I'm annoyed.

A few weeks ago I watched "The Secret" and decided that my problem is that I have lived as if I exist in a community with other people. I thought I gave myself enough "me" time, but apparently I need a "me" life. According to "The Secret" (shhhh...it's really "The Power of Positive Thinking" repackaged, but don't tell anyone) I need to view my life as a "catalogue" in which I can order up experiences in my own personalized amusement park (can you tell that I'm being facetious?).

I know people like Oprah subscribe to the "Ask and Receive" philosophy of "The Secret," and, clearly, Oprah has received quite a bit in her life and because she has had to struggle as an African American woman, it is a huge accomplishment. However, the fact remains that were I stranded on a deserted island with my last container of red vines and cup of Peete's coffee...would I really want to break bread (or red vine) with her? Would I want to hang out with her? Can anyone hang out with her? Does she "hang out" when not televised with famous people and impoverished African girls? The point is does Oprah have good relationships? Does "The Secret" really have any insight into creating good relationships in a complicated human world...which is really much more interesting and meaningful to me than a necklace.

Most likely, I would give her some red vines and coffee and ask her to go to the other side of the island where she could talk to the crabs, sea gulls, and her own idolized volleyball about how to make an exfoliant out of crushed sea shells...(believe it or not, I actually like Oprah).

THE POINT IS: Good relationships, in my experience, require more than one party. And, while I know there are "healthy" and "unhealthy" people, I do live in a planet filled with EVERYONE (at least I think I do...maybe I just imagined these billions of people in my own life "catalogue") Am I justified in ignoring the sick, homeless, and persecuted because their vibe is bringing me down (so conveninent)? Can I just order up a experience with another complicated human person without their participation...(unless I hypnotize or drug them...both viable options).

Another annoying thing: "The Secret" espouses the Law of Attraction...but what about the fact that electrons repel each other, opposites attract, Murphy's Law runs my life, and Irony...where would Alanis Morisette be if she practiced "The Secret's" philosophy...?!!!!!

I'm getting very boring.

Just for today, I can criticize The Secret.

I yelled at Super Evil Flash Programmer today because (for the millionth time) his response to my enlightening him on the SOF (State of Fucked-Upness) of a website, (aka, The Thing That Doesn't Work Ever Since That Other Thing Was Fixed) was not to my satisfaction.

"It worked yesterday."

Ok...? So, uh...not very proactive (in my opinion).

Needless to ask (unless you have a compulsive need to point out the obvious...like I do), but why does what happened yesterday matter when something different is happening today? I pointed this out to SEFP, except I did it in an exasperated state of freak-out (now I'm turning verbs into nouns...that is, if to "freak" is a real word). In other words, I wasn't very nice about.

SEFP's response was to appear very amused by my momentary state hysteria, which makes me suspect that he's not nearly as irrational as he likes to appear. I told him he'd better give the programming elves who live in his cube a raise or else start training his rabbits how to use the computer (and then how to program) because someone's gotta pick up the slack...

I'm starting to think that I attract men in my life who not only enjoy the regularity and ease with which I can sometimes overreact, but who incite it. Tonight, Relentless admitted that he says things to either make me laugh or become angry (very endearing). It's usually something perverted involving a shower and mentioned within the first five minutes of our conversation. After that, it's an uphill battle to adulthood...he claims that if he were really interested in me would use a wiser tactic to get me into the bedroom...(who needs to star in a sit-com when you can live it?). The point is...why do I talk to Relentless? No, actually, the point is...why does God hate women and me in particular? No...the real point is, that there is clearly no such thing as control over life because why would I choose to put up with this abuse? (God, I'm boring...)

Do angry women really provide that much entertainment? If that's the case, how do I go professional with this gig?

Just for today, I can look at my reactions.

Super Evil Flash Programmer and I caught up over chocolate cheesecake at the bi-monthly Office Birthday Meeting. I wasn't going to eat any seeing as I'll be publicly half-naked in a few hours for my inaugural salsa performance....[If I didn't invite you, it's probably because I don't want you there (sorry). Not because I don't like you, but I have no idea how I'll perform under the scrutiny of people I know seeing me dressed like a stripper, while trying to stay on beat with Beatless Shorty. Little did I ever imagine that years of therapy and pseudo-spirituality would lead to the perfection of the "sexy walk." I'm trusting that it's all in the name of embracing my sexuality and inner-Goddess...who walks very sexy.]

...but then I realized, that this is chocolate we're talking about. So, I had a sliver. And then another one (it all equals one regular slice).

Anyway, Super Evil Flash Programmer is all stressed about the $1600 a month health insurance premium he'll have to pay to cover himself and his wife. What a scam. All I know is that unless you study the insurance booklets like a mafia tax attorney on crack, you're getting screwed...I'm starting to think that when I was a little kid and wanted another piece of candy and my dad would say "No," and I'd say "Why the hell not? (except I didn't use the word 'hell')...You've had three more pieces than I've had! That's not fair!" and he'd say, "Life isn't fair,"...maybe, he was trying to teach me something...

Along with my bra, skirt, and eye shadow, I might be wearing some chocolate cheesecake tonight.

Just for today, I can eat weigh in on eating chocolate cheesecake.

My mom tried to pawn one of my sister's cats off on me with the not-very-convincing argument, "she's going to die soon, anyway." Well, that's comforting. I get attached to another form of life that leaves me so that my abandonment issues can be triggered and I can learn more lessons about the impermanence of life...no thank you. I'll stick to white wine and salsa dancing (though, not together).

It was almost working, though, and I was inches away from becoming a Creepy Cat Lady when my allergies kicked in. I think they're actually functioning on behalf of my ovaries as part of some biological alarm clock crying out, "Don't get the cat if you ever want a consistent sex life!" Notice the choice of the word "consistent?" Actually, it really just takes one time. The point is, whether or not anyone will come out and say it, cats are the ultimate form birth control for single white ladies.

Just for today, I can consider cat adoption.

On Sunday night the cops pulled me over for running a stop sign. The Bad Cop shined a light in my face and bellowed, "Turn your engine off! and put your parking break!" as if I were a wanted drug lord with a murder record. Then The Good Cop came to my driver's side window and got my info.

The creepy part happened after I got the ticket and drove the 100 feet to a parking space in front of my apartment building (the high point of the evening). As soon as I parked I noticed that the cops had followed me, stopped the cop car, turned off their lights, and WATCHED AS I WALKED INTO MY APARTMENT BUILDING.

"Maybe they wanted to make sure that you got home ok," said my mother.

Maybe. But kind of hard to believe.

I hate to think how I might have been treated if I was black and male. I found some information on Internal Affairs, and I filed a complaint.

Just for today, I can challenge authority.

I was talking on my cell to my friend while at the gas station the other day.

"What's that noise?" she asked.

"That's the television by the gas pump."

"It's so loud," she replied.

"I know, but there's no way to turn it off."

It wasn't even real TV, but gas station TV, some weird hybrid news program. I don't even like CNN, I'm sure as hell not going to watch television created by oil execs. The thing that really annoyed me was that there's no Off switch. So, I had no choice but to listen to pretend news. Maybe that's the price you pay for cheap gas.

I never thought about the quality of my gas station pumping experience, but I realized that I wouldn't mind paying $.40 to fill my tank in peace.

Just for today, I can hate gas station TV.

I know everyone's riding high on all this Obama-hope, but I've been in a terrible I-Just-Got-Woken-Up-From-A-Nap mood for the last few days. Every rudimentary activity feels like torture. I don't wanna go to work, or to a (stupid) status meeting, or fill my gas tank, or do anything "not fun." Why do I have to do boring things? I'm wondering if it's hormonal...I was also upset because nobody complimented my compulsive purchase of busy shirt (I'm still waiting to see if tropical prints work with my pale ghostly skin...).

No, in all seriousness, I heard of an elderly friend who tragically died. I hadn't seen her in years, but nobody should die tragically.

Yes, even without Bush in office people will suffer and bad things happen.

Just for today, I'm cranky.

Things have been seriously jacked up for the past few weeks. It's like relationship drama, except instead of bouncing around unavailable guys, I'm getting dumped and dumping web hosting companies. I broke up with one company and went to another. Then, they dumped me on my ass...(refunded my money and said they couldn't help me). Fuckers. (Whatever you do...never go near 2mhost).

Yes, I got mad. I cried, made threats, even pleaded.

Now, I have a new server. So far, we're working things out.

Like a long-term relationship, I had taken my blog and web hosting company for granted and failed to appreciate the miracle of instant publishing of all my half-baked, inappropriately self-revealing, and misspelled thoughts.

Then everything went to shit. My database disappeared, tech support people started to hate me...this is why I hate web production.

I vow to blog every day (I know I tried it once and didn't do it) in order to re-establish my credibility as a blogger (if I ever had any).

Just for today, I can appreciate my blog.

Before I hit the over 35 demographic, I never bought into the idea of "assholeness" as a probable cause for human behavior. I thought people who called other people "assholes" were speaking from subjective experience. That may be the case, but I have since realized that The Asshole Factor is as a complete reason for human behavior, as hunger or need to procreate.

It's been suggested to me that I create an Asshole File, if only in my mind. This file will save me the time and energy otherwise expended in my "Why would somebody do that? say that? be that?!" emotional response of outrage. Simple. Open file. Insert Asshole Document. Go along with my day.

SUVs who take up two parking spaces? Assholes.

Guys who call and express interest but pretend you're a passing acquaintance in public? Assholes.

It's a condition, really, like toe fungus. You can treat it. But first you have to accept that your toe nail falling off isn't in the natural order of your body's processes. Anyone with Assholeitis is free to acknowledge the problem and treat it appropriately with lots of therapy, hugs, and chocolate.

Just for today, I can create an Asshole File.

Today, my Possibly Crazy Building Manager (let's just say that when she became building manager, we changed our locks) banged on my door. I was sure that somebody had been killed, or that my downstairs neighbor had kicked the bucket.

"We have to get out of the building! There is a gas leak!"

I grabbed my computer, camera, and purse. I have been planning such an exit since I first saw the "Tsunami Zone" signs on Pacific Blvd. However, in my mind, I'm stuck in traffic on Washington Blvd. while a ten story tsunami wave chases me.

I went outside to smell the stench of gas, and wondered which house would blow up first, secretly hoping it's the expensive condos with all the movie stars.

A few minutes later, I realized I needed to take a shower. Wait for buildings to blow up or take a shower? I took my chances.

It turns out the whole coastline reeked of gas. My Crazy Building Manager told me that The Gas Company said it was the smell came from the ocean. The ocean? I've lived here for thirteen years and have smelled lots of sewage, dead fish, and sulfur...but this was the gas that comes from my stove.

So far I haven't been able to find any articles in the news.

Just for today, I don't trust The Gas Company.

Salt. Coke. In n' Out. More Salt. Tears. Emotional reaction to This Video of Gonzo. Email. More Emails. They grow. Deadline? Oh, yeah. Stuff. To. Do. Did I forget...? Panic. No, it's all Ok...I'm...just...moving...in...slow...motion...like...acting ...class...molasses...no...aunt jemima syrup...no....chocolate gelato....damn...it's the PMS!!

Seriously?! How am I supposed to function as an Alpha Woman with PMS?! [NOTE: I really just now wanted to write "PMS n' shit." (SUB-NOTE: I once worked with a guy who finished every sentence with "n' shit." As in, "We was eatin' tacos n' shit." Except, he pronounced it "n' 'sit." So, one day I told a co-worker at another job about this guy, and immediately he and I started adding "n' sit" to everything we said...in eight months of working together it never failed to produce gales of laughter. The trick was the pregnant pause after making a declamatory statement. Someone would say something like, "I gotta do my taxes..." and then we'd look at each other, and five seconds later, someone would casually whisper, "n' sit." To this day, when I say anything mundane like, "I'm going to run some errands..." I alway finish it in my head with "n' sit.")]

But "PMS n' shit" sounds so un-feminist. Un-feminist? Dang. First the Republicans rape the word "rape" and I forget the meaning of the word "sexist." But it's OK, 2011 is The Year of Self-Acceptance. I'm a flawed, imperfect babbling blogging fool, on PMS, and caffeine, but am still worthy of love, acceptance...

...n' sit.

Just for today, I have no idea what I just wrote.

Last night my More Nerdy Teacher (I have two who switch off each week) had some difficulty explaining a concept that confused most of the class. I raised my hand to offer some information I remember reading in a book.

"That's totally different," he snapped. "And that did not help the discussion at all."

I sat there stunned. Did my mega-geek teacher just shut me down?

"Well, it (the idea) helped me...(Bitch)" I replied. (I didn't really call him a Bitch).

I stewed until the break when I unloaded on my friend who found the whole exchange high-larious.

"I think he just likes to hear himself talk," she said

I went back to my seat after the break imagining the scathing reviews I would write of his teaching skills at the end of the quarter. Have you heard of the Socratic method? Have you heard of "teaching?" It's not all about knowing the subject, you also need a strong dose of Give-A-Shit-tuitiveness, along with a passion for the subject. I considered yawning through the rest of his spark-killing lecture, but decided that I paid too much for the class not to try to learn something. However, it never got boring because I had the opportunity to watch my teacher have a meltdown.

First he got a leg cramp in mid-lecture.

"Ow, my leg just cramped up," he announced to the class.

We all waited for it to subside as he sat rubbing his leg. Then he began a stream of babble that seemed to bore even him. As people played with their phones, nodded off, or just spaced out he seemed to come to life in a sort of human, endearing, Anthony Michael Hall kind of beaten down, yet, still kicking way. But even Anthony Michael Hall didn't implode. It didn't take long to realize that his Teacher Act was over, he had ripped off the mask when he slammed his student.

He tried to wrap the class up twenty minutes before it was supposed to end. By that time I had forgotten about the scathing reviews, and found myself rooting for him to pull himself together. He had fried himself in his own pan of know-it-all nerdness.

I always felt that it was my responsibility to make sure justice was served in life. That's a really fucking tiring job. So glad I don't have to do it anymore.

Just for today, nerd karma lives.

SFX: Police siren.

($%#$@$#!!!)

"You're supposed to pull over to the right. Not the left."

Whoops.

"You knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course, Officer."

(??????!!!!)

"That's another moving violation, but I'm only giving you one citation."

"Thank you, Officer!"

(#$@#$?!!!)

"So, where ya headed?"

"Oakland."

"Where are you coming from?"

"Los Angeles."

"Why'd you move to Los Angeles?"

"To be a writer."

"What have you written?"

So many questions, Officer. I'd love to tell you more about myself over some curly fries at the nearest Carl's Junior, but could you just burn this ticket?

Apparently, the CHP take their jobs very seriously. (Where's Ponch when you need him?)

I decided to consider it a Lucky Speeding Ticket. When you get a ticket for going 84 in a 70 MPH zone, something good is going to happen.

Just for today, I'm grateful for my Lucky Speeding Ticket.

After seven years, I bid adieu to my shrink. Sure, we did some great "work" together. She helped me realize that I deserve more than the sales rack at Ross and angry boyfriends. But over the past few years, I started to feel that she's just so...white. Muted tones. Pregnant pauses. Everything that came out of her mouth was sanitized for client consumption. Just once I wanted her to stop stand up and yell, "That's some fucked up shit you're talking about!!!" Sometimes you gotta get medieval. And not in a Jungian sense.

Sure, my dad was a white dude, but inside, I feel very Mexican. Does it really make sense to bring my struggles to the master race? Who colonized the third world, created slaves and spawned serial killers? Sure, I'll work for them. Of course I'll continue to be their friends. Maybe date them. But by God, I am not going to go to them for advise on how not to be depressed!! No, I need a therapist who knows that certain things in life, many things, will not get better by talking about them.

I told a friend that I wanted to meet a black woman therapist. [After my one time seeing a male therapist who accused me of coming on to him (he was 65), I decided to stick with my own sex.)] And sure enough, he referred me to one. Call me racist (the type of racism that comes from liking a race too much), but I think I'm onto something.

Just for today, I can change shrinks.

In the past few weeks, I have, against my wishes and, yet, possessed by the spirit of lost consciousness made the following items dissappear:

1) My watch
2) My debit card
3) My lipstick
4) My car's remote lock battery
5) Many receipts
6) A bra
7) This really ghetto plastic chipped cup from the $.99 store that I kept on my desk and I swear someone stole (why?).
7) Some other things I can't remember but which make me spend hours of my life digging through my purse, desk, laundry, jackets, etc. like a crazy lady.

Sometimes said item will be in my hand one moment and then "Bam!" it's dissappeared into the ether. This has got to be a talent.

Just for today, I feel insane.