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Matt: Rowena is… a tiger, a cat, a hunter, a parrot, a squirrel, and a princess. Gattica is a panther, a cat, a piggy, and a queen!
Me: So what am I?
Matt: You're a pretty, a ballerina, a goat, and a pretty!
Me: And you are a tropical feesh! And a pupa!

So C, Matt, and I had a lot of fun this weekend. All I'm saying is, there's nothing like vanilla bean cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory. It made my feeling like a barge arse (patent/pending Bo) worth it. Come to mama, vanilla bean.

So it's back to work tomorrow. At least the end of the month craziness is over and it's back to the regular ol' routine. This week also brings mini-vacation #2. We're heading up to the lake to visit Matt's folks for four days. We're leaving Thursday evening. Should be fun. It's very peaceful and relaxing, and I promise to take a lot of pictures.

At the moment, I am looking at the cutest thing in the world. The man's on the loveseat, typing away. He's got our big black kitty sleeping on the cushion near his shoulder and the other tiger kitty nearly ready to pass out beside him. They love their daddy.

Time to go climb into bed. It's actually unseasonably cool here tonight, so my down comforter's calling my name. I can't believe August is almost over! I'm not quite ready for winter yet, but the thought of pumpkin spice candles and slow-cooked chili is really turning my crank right now. Night!

Around 11:30pm last night, Charity, Matt, and I were talking about boobs and how, if you have these lovely things, they can get you out of any situation. Speeding ticket? No problem. In fact, being a girl pretty much rules, I have to admit. We can get out of physical labor, mental labor, we can get about eighteen thousand second chances, you name it. It's pretty sweet. It makes the “monthly weirdness,” as my enchanting boyfriend likes to call it, totally worth it. Almost.

Ahhhhh, the power of cleavage.

Well, I survived Monday - barely. I swear, each time I got up from my desk - even for a moment - I'd come back and I'd be staring at the dreaded RED LIGHT. What is this RED LIGHT you ask? Well, it's my voicemail indicator, and it just flashed at me all day long andneverstoppedandIwantedtotakeahammeran-… Okay. I'll stop.

I'm finally feeling a lot more at ease with a situation the man and I were pondering: When to move back to the west coast. Oh, THE PLAN branched out into fifteen thousand mini-plans that just got too complicated and overrun with emotion rather than clear thought. Once he or I scores a good job - no settling - we'll move. Plain and simple. Big weight off shoulders, believe me.

I'm feeling a lot more confident in my ability to do my job. I was assured I'm doing just fine, though sometimes I think otherwise - and no, it's not always because I'm afraid of my inadequacies.

The next month is going to be quite busy and very very fun! I'm taking Friday off since C & R are coming for a visit. It'll be great to spend the entire weekend with C, as we don't often get a chance to catch up. It'll be a weekend of Häagen-Dazs, magazines, and lots of boy talk. The weekend after, we're heading up to Matt's parents house on the lake for four days. I swear, it's the most beautiful and relaxing place I've ever been. Aaaaand, just two weeks after that (I think that brings us to mid-Sept), we're taking a trip to Canada to visit Paul, Cam, Wade, and Kin. What an excellent time we'll have. Sushi, here we come! Oh, and Kin? Don't worry - I didn't forget the cake.

I feel real proud about how well I've managed to diversify my vacation time. Even with this vacation, it still leaves me six days before the end of the year. I'd like to fly out and see my sister, Nate, and soon-to-be-newborn, Maysen. It'll be a great time!

I'm sprawled in my comfy bed, air conditioner blasting on me, Rowena at my feet. I'm trying to decide if I want to sleep or not. I do, because I'm starting to feel it, but I don't since my weekend was incredibly short. Gotta love working six hours on Saturday.

I can't tell you how ready I am for Thursday to be over. Thursday is our end of the month at work, and it's usually a twelve hour day. Ugh. This whole week is going to be insane, therefore, I am dreading tomorrow. I'm taking this coming Friday off, since C & R are driving out for the weekend. Should be a nice time.

Anyway, entirely past my bedtime. I'll tell you more tomorrow. How was your weekend?

Matt and I were talking tonight about how bad you can jack up a chicken breast sandwich.

Now I don't know about you, but when I think of chicken breast sandwich with the yummy trimmings, I think I'm eating pretty well, compared to what I could be eating, say.. this little baby. Burger King, however, has a new Chicken Whopper, complete with grilled chicken breast, lettuce, and tomato. So why on earth is this seemingly healthy sandwich so jacked up? Well, to start, the calories on this rig is at a slimming 570. Calories from fat? 250. A huge portion of the calories (150) is simply from the big glob of mayo they put on it. Add some medium fries to that and a medium coke, you're looking at fatassville: 1160. For. One. Meal. That just seems wrong somehow. I can make sense of the fat beef burger, but grilled chicken sandwich? What can you possibly do to a chicken sandwich to make it have that many calories? You'd have to be trying pretty damn hard…

I received a rather startling phone call from my cousin tonight. She was quite upset as she explained her folks, after being married twenty-seven years, were getting divorced. I asked the obvious question, and was told my aunt had gotten in contact with an old friend via the internet that she'd met at church camp when she was twelve, and was going to move to Texas to be with him. My uncle, completely unaware of this, was lambasted with the news of all this about a month ago, after my aunt secretly had Tex up for a four day romp in the hay weeks before. I think that one's called infidelity. The unfortunate part is, it doesn't matter who files, who commits adultery - it doesn't even matter who leaves who - my uncle might have to make maintenance payments toward her. I've seen this one too many times before, as my parents wound up in a nasty divorce after twenty-six years of marriage. The situation was similiar - my mom told my dad she was leaving him one day, my dad was served papers, kicked out of his own home, and ordered by the courts to pay my mother $850/mo for the next ten years or until she moves in with someone else/gets re-married. My father at the time, was still taking care of my sister and received no child support from my mother whatsoever. It is my opinion the man always gets screwed in these situations, and there surely needs to be a revision in this law. It disgusts me to see the law in its poorest state, especially when we as a whole, must abide by such rulings that aren't justified.

Why do these situations happen in the first place? What ever happened to sticking with the commitment you made when you slipped that ring on your finger and said your vows? Things change. People change. I don't dispute that. Your relationship, however, should change with things. No one ever said marriage was easy. Being around someone twenty-seven years is sure to drive you nuts at some point. I'm always fascinated with the couples that have been married sixty years. What's the key to making it work? I've asked. Always, the response has been the same: Communication. Respect. Being best friends. I'm inclined to say people that truly have these things will never contemplate leaving their mate. I've had a best friend now since fourth grade. One could say our relationship isn't that exciting - a lot of the time we spend together, nothing new ever takes place, we do a lot of the same things day in and day out. The fact that we enjoy eachother's company, the fact we trust and love eachother, that makes me think to myself, “Man. If she ever left my life, I don't know what I would do.” She's a part of me, plain and simple.

Just today, in fact, a rather immature co-worker of mine bragged about leaving her husband. I attended their rather elaborate wedding not eleven months ago, and already I hear about how the relationship just wasn't “exciting” enough, and “the passion was gone.” When I mention my thoughts, they usually get passed off as, “Well, you're still in a new relationship. Just you wait. The fireworks will fade.” Fireworks? Fade? Matt and I don't sit and stare at eachother with baited breath, taking in the rapture of eachother's beauty. I do, however, feel his warm breath on my shoulder each night when we cuddle and go to sleep. I do hear him quietly tell me that he loves me. I feel his warm lips press against my temple. I hear him ask me if I had a good day today. He gets me ice cream. I see him smile at me from across the table in a restaurant as he bashfully tells me I look really pretty. Those are my fireworks. Those fireworks are respect and love for eachother, nothing more. Those are all I've ever had, and I can guarantee you I'll always have those for the rest of our lives together. I feel sorry for people who give up on relationships, especially the couples that can't find it in their hearts to talk things out and come up with a solution. Don't you owe your partner you spent your life with that much respect? It's a shame, really.

Oh, and eat your heart out, Dr. Phil.

What's better than hot chocolate with marshmallows? The Romanian Men's Gymnastics team. On the rings. In tights. And oh, the muscles…. rowr.

Yes, that title fits me pretty well this afternoon. I got off work early today, because I get the pleasure of coming in four hours this coming Saturday. So here I am. 2:36pm and I haven't done a damn thing since I've gotten home, other than shove a hamburger in my face and swig lemonade. Well, I take that back. I surfed my company's intranet site to see internal postings, looked at Daily Herald, checked out the Trib, looked at a few job placement joints' websites, scritched Row behind her ears, cleaned up puke, sent out a few e-mails, and I think that pretty much covers it.

Here's the thing. I am motivated. I have finally realized what I want to do with my life, over the weekend. It's nothing real new; I'd tossed the idea around. But it's going to require an education. Before I can do that, my goal is to pay off my debt. I've made significant progress, and I'm down to just having under six grand on my car left and I will be living the American Dream. Or something. So why I am so sour?

I think it's my company. My company is slowly driving me insane. At first, I thought maybe the position wasn't right for me. But I've been in five different positions with my company in my 3.5 year stretch, and only one I can say I actually didn't mind doing. I thought underwriting was going to be it for me. Career path, here I come. People my age should know what the hell they want to do with their lives, right? So here I am, smart girl, 26, working for said company she really can't stand. My current position, while challenging, is coming very close to capping my stress tolerance level. Give me a little credit, will ya? I just got out of a six week training class that was pretty much pointless, and I'm expected to know everything there is to know about underwriting real estate mortgage loans, and I don't! So kill me. To give myself credit, my numbers are going up. But from the second I walk in the door, I feel like I'm in this perpetual sitcom that never ends, skipping my breaks, coming back a few minutes early, staying a few minutes after I'm supposed to leave, just to make a goal that will be going up in about a week and a half. I come home grumpy, tired, and upset every day. I've never been in a position where a.) I've never met goal, or b.) had a boss that was so dreadful to work for, so all this is sort of new. Got any ideas to help a girl deal with Megalomaniac in the big cube next to her? It would certianly be helpful.