It's been a rough couple of weeks. Car trouble galore. Stress. More car trouble. Drama. Physical injuries. More drama.

There's definitely been some good moments though. I've gotten closer to some of the people that I live with. Gotten to spend a lot more time with others. It's nice; but it makes it harder to leave. There's been shows and film festivals and parties and another instant film (will link to it once it's online). I've also had a lot of time to think. Something I'm sure I'll have a lot more of once I get on the road (which will hopefully finally be Sunday!).

I don't understand the need to lie. I never have. Telling the truth isn't always easy at that specific point in time, but in the long run it's so much easier, and so less destructive.

The ideal situation would be to just eliminate the behavior that leads to the lying. But alas. Some people really just don't change. Some people really don't deserve to be trusted.

What I hate almost as much as lying is the way people try to find ways to justify that behavior. Ways to blameshift. Excuses to make not only the behavior justified, but the lying as well.

There is no excuse for lying. And there is no excuse for knowingly and deliberately doing things that you know will extremely hurt another person. Especially when that person is someone you claim to love.

Please help me!

Hello everyone,

I'm back on the podium again.

Skinny-B has had hundreds of dollars of medicines and vaccinations, she is 100% an indoor house cat. Potty trained, trained not to jump on kitchen or bathroom sinks, she talks (if you talk to her she'll talk back sometimes for 1/2 an hour) and is the best cuddler ever. Just an overall wonderful cat!

A wonderful cat that has Feline leukemia. If someone doesn't adopt her she will have to be put down. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE help me not have to do that. If you know anyone who has a big heart, or needs a young pet, or anyone at all you can ask Please do! She is just over a year old, and CAN live with other vaccinated cats. She would also do well with dogs, and GREAT with kids!

She and I need your help.







(click for larger sizes)

Please help us!

If you know anyone please give them my number or email. And please repost this on blogs, myspace, livejournals, etc. If you live in another state, please don't hesitate to repost or contact me if you are interested or have questions. We can always figure something out. If you live nearby and are interested, you can come meet her!

626.367.8390
mims.katie at gmail dot com

Finally. I've found a decent coffee shop that can make decent coffee AND has free wireless internet. I'd begun to think that those two things didn't exist in this city. Especially at the same location. Too bad I leave in a few days.

Last time I tried to order an iced vanilla latte (before I found this place), the girl handed it to me hot. I handed it back and told her I had ordered it iced. She just stood there and looked at me, dumbfounded. So I said, "You know, iced. Put ice in a bigger cup and pour the latte over it."

She got a bigger cup, poured the latte in it, then dropped five or so ice cubes in it.

Gross. Never would have thought such simple directions would be so hard to follow.

In other news, I came out here determined to not revive my southern accent. After hearing a message that I left on my grandparents answering machine today, I realized that I've been totally unsuccessful. I've got that nice southern drawl again. At least it isn't as bad as it was when I was a kid and moved to Florida. I had it so bad the people down there could hardly understand a damn word I said.

If I never eat at another Picadilly in my life, I swear I'll die a happy woman. My grandparents Sunday ritual is to go to Picadilly for dinner. Or get it to go and bring it back to the house, if my grandmother isn't feeling up to going out. So that's been what...three weekends in a row? Maybe more? I think I've eaten enough bland, fatty southern food to last the rest of my life. And I've realized that there are three requirements for southern food.

1. It must be fried in bacon fat.
2. It must be slathered in butter.
3. It must be engulfed by brown sugar. Or molasses. Or Sourgum.

The thing is, most of the time, a single southern dish will incorporate all three requirements. I made some really good, whole wheat, organic pancake mix the other night. I woke up the next morning, and my grandpa had already beat me to it and made blueberry pancakes. Except he cooked my uber-healthy pancake batter in bacon fat. Fat from the gross tin can that he puts on the back of the stove to collect all the grease after frying bacon. I don't even want to know how long some of that gunk has been in that can.

I have so much to say, but I feel and need so much that I can't find the words.

Echo.