illusory world.

so hello. the blog is still here. we haven't gone away. wee. good times. so... yah. i'm bored. it does go back to the feeling like there's nothing to talk about even though i know there is. like there was this lady, my friend's neighbor who has a giant orange tabby named chewbacca. and it walks on a leash. she told me that she muscled CatFancy magazine into publishing pictures of her bohemith cat. CatFancy made the mistake of saying, "we're not in the habit of featuring corpulent cats." (more like fat cats, which is also fun- than overweight cats, which is probably what she said) but anyway, the lady then went on a tyriad and called every single department at CatFancy over several weeks, demanding penance or vengence or something- so they capitualted to the corpulent cat, chewbacca and he is going to be in the September issue of CatFancy. She concluded our talk with- "People, don't fuck with my cat."

Awesome. I know. At least the cat likes me, but the lady might be jealous. Mental noted, keep my distance.

But here's the thing, do you ever have that feeling that your life is happening in 3rd person or only in association with so and so went here and did this with... friends... i would be the friend. the friend that things aren't happening to. but how can i complain about that? if i were to write my memoirs it would be "and thus passed an uneventful time in her life." am i just a landmark whore? like it's been 2 yrs since my last landmark, so apparently without one i lead an incomplete, trite and capricious existence? like, no spotlight = ?... oh god. that's horrible. i'm a fame-whore. i have peace, i have contentment, i can pay my bills, lead a leisurely enough existence to read Don Quioxte without compunction... how can that be boring.