I have a new coat! I am so happy. I couldn't afford one last year, which sucked.

I spent $30 at a discount/overstock store to get it. Turns out it retails for $100. I'm thinking I got a fairly good deal. It's pretty awesome, has pockets inside and out, fits perfectly, is pretty much weatherproof, and on top of all that is exactly what I needed, and very nearly exactly what I wanted.

I spent another $30+ a little foolishly - beef shortloin roasts were on sale at savemart for $7/lb. The short loin is the part from which the very best filets - including the real petite filet - the filet mignon, which is the little 1" diameter strip of the short loin at the very end cut into tiny round steaklets (what's sold as filet mignon is almost always just a filet). I got two roasts and carved them into filets and filet mignons myself, and vaccuum packed them to freeze them in one- and two-serving portions. Out of the two roasts, I got twelve roughly 4-6 oz portions, a small bag of ends, and a bag of cat treats (I grill up the fat pieces for Que when I have a steak, she loves them and can use the calories). This came down to about $2.50 a serving, for beef filet and filet mignon. Considering that my steaks always come out better than a restaurant can do, that's damnably good. I also cut up two LARGE roasts for Boyfriend's wife. I left the mignons on the larger filets and did not trim them (at her request), and so they ended up with twelve LARGE (8 oz-ish) filets and a tiny bit of ends.

So if you want cheap-ass filets and petite filets, get thine arse to savemart immediately; sale ends tomorrow. And if you don't want to cut it into steaks yourself, then you'll have a CRAZY good roast. Or, if I like you, I'll cut them up for you. But you have to buy them and provide an appropriate knife, since I don't have one. You might also take advantage of savemart's sale on ziplock vaccuum(sp?) bags. A couple bucks is worth it to freeze your meat without it getting freezerburn; you don't want your $2.50 filets to get ruined from bad freezing! Plus, divided between all the steaks, a box of quart-sized vaccuum bags and the starter kit with the little sucky-thingy only adds like $0.25 to the price of each steak, and you won't lose any of your yummy bits to the freezer.

All of the Big Stuff is moved. Next weekend I will be completely done moving.

The new place is SO AWESOME! I can't believe I'm living somewhere so nice. My friend who owns the place must be sacrificing a lot by renting it to me so cheaply. If the rental market were a bit healthier, he could get twice what I'm paying for it, I think.

My friend had the place painted between when I saw it and when I started moving. The colors are perfect; they're totally "me" colors - I expected that horrible vibrant beige (Aztec White?) that I'm used to seeing in any rental space and which turns my stomach. Instead, I have a gorgeous olive drab in the living room, which compliments the oak wainscotting very nicely (yep, that's right, I have wainscotting!) and the kitchen is a bright, cool white. The entryway, bathroom, and huge closet are all various shades (or the same shade?) of gentle beige - not the eye-wrenching, brain-stabbing beige I mentioned before, but a very welcoming tan sort of beige. The bedroom has three walls in a light sandy tan, and one wall in a gray-brown-green that I can't quite define but which I really like.

The carpets need replacing, but that's okay. I don't really care. My beloved area rug looks perfect in the living room.

My one remaining fish tank is sitting empty in the dining area. I'm not sure yet where the lizard houses will go.

The electric outlet in the bathroom is nonfunctional, as is one in the kitchen. A screen needs repair. The mechanism that diverts water from the tub faucet into the shower needs replacing. All of these things are going to be handled, and I don't have to fix ANY of them myself! So awesome!

Oh! I HAVE A DISHWASHER!!!!

The only downside, and I'm not sure it's a downside yet, is my downstairs neighbor. He's creepy. Like, seriously creeptastically creepy. I will steal lemons from his tree.

Last night, Boyfriend and I were settling in for a nice night of cuddles after packing boxes. At 10:37, hooray! Gunshots! Probably only a couple of buildings down. Sigh. Called 911, and all that jazz.

I can't fucking WAIT to move.

Mmmmmmmm. I've been neglecting myself. Even just a little two-hour drive with nothing but my Jeep to keep me company is so thoroughly rejuvinating.... I'd forgotten how good and free this feels. I really need to schedule a "just me" drive once a month, I think.I just don't know where the bloody hell I'll find the time.

I smell Autumn today. I eagerly await the rains.

It's a new day, and I'm still a little disturbed from yesterday.

Impressive.

On a happy note, I'm writing for WetWebMedia again.

Whee!

Oh ye gods.... I just had a HORRIBLE and somewhat traumatizing experience euthanising a fish....

The fish experienced no pain, the suffering is entirely my own. That's how it always goes, it seems, and that's fine - as long as the lives in my care don't suffer, it's okay.

But oh, ugh, ack, yuck, WHY did I have to look?!?!

No details, too graphic/disturbing. Wish I could rewind and erase that from my memory. Ugh. I think I'm crying and going to be sick.

My talk went pretty well!

My friend/hero/mentor was quite okay with my apartment. He's a cool guy, and was sincerely appreciative that I was willing to share what little space and resources I had.

Five people do fit in my apartment for sleeping, but it makes the kitchen inaccessible.

It was very refreshing and uplifting seeing my friend. When it came time to drop him off at the airport, I found myself quite sad. I'll get to spend some time with him next month, I think, or at least see him briefly at a talk in Sac.

We didn't make it to the Steinhart, but we plan to try for that again some time, maybe on a weekday.

Hrm, is tonight the Equinox already? Guess I'd better figure out what I'm doing, eh?

Boyfriend and I have returned from our long-ass, awesomely spectacular, wonderful, excellent road trip.

We had ten glorious days of driving, camping, hiking, swimming, huckleberry picking, and Slightly Awkward Discussions With My Parents.

See, Boyfriend is married. He's been with his wife for several years, and I Really Like her. She seems to Really Like me, too. Boyfriend and I have been dating for over seven months now, and we are getting fairly serious.

This has been a bit tough for my parents to grok, but they seemed to accept him very gladly. After one Fairly Awkward Discussion with my Mom, she even chuckled and said to Boyfriend, "Y'know, I couldn't've imagined myself saying this a week ago, but.... I really want to meet your wife." I almost cried with happy.

As the ten days wore on, I became very accustomed to sharing a bed with Boyfriend, seeing him all the time, sharing meals, spending time frivolously chasing after waterfalls and berries, and forming new memories.

In the midst of this joy, a bit of me wondered and worried about our homecoming.... I would "have to" "pass him back" to his wife.... Would I feel resentment? Jealousy? Would I be sad to "go back" to "sharing" him? (Quotes to note the portions of thoughts that I deem to be rather negative) A small piece of me was fearful that I would not be happy about the return. Most of me, though, and the part that I hope is intelligent and sensible, was entirely certain that all would be well, as there hadn't been any change in the relationship. Perhaps Boyfriend and I grew to know each other better, but the love shared within our little maybe-family (Self, Boyfriend, Boyfriend's Wife, and Her Boyfriend) hadn't changed in any way.... I still love them, they still love each other, and they still love me. Furthermore, i caught myself -numerous- times wishing that she were there, so she could experience the wonderful things that Boyfriend and I were sharing and that I wanted to share with her, too. All the same, that small piece of me was nervous.

When we finally arrived at Boyfriend's house, there was solid, palpable happy. It was quite sudden that the nervous bit of me disappeared; I almost laughed at myself. There was no sense of "giving back" of anyone, no resentment, no jealousy, no sadness.... Just happy welcome. I was really genuinely happy to see Boyfriend's Wife, as I'd expected I would be. I was eager to share stories with her of where we'd been and what we'd done. I was ecstatic to extend my Mother's welcome to her. I was overjoyed to hear the lovey smoochy noises that she and Boyfriend made while I set down my bags of huckleberry booty. I was thrilled to see her face when we mentioned that there would be gifts and treats.

The four of us went to dinner, and when it came time to toast, Boyfriend's Wife said, "This one's easy. Welcome home." I started to feel all bubbly that maybe, just maybe, she meant that for me as well as for Boyfriend, and when she looked at BOTH of us, I felt sincerely included in the welcome, and almost got teary. I felt so much that I was really a part of it, I felt so much like I was actually family.... I really felt Home.

The SF Bay Area doesn't hold a place for me that is Home, but these and other people here are certainly a part of Home to me. I feel that some day, coming back to the Bay Area really will be like coming Home.

Ah! As to how I felt about not sharing a bed with Boyfriend, and about going back to my lonely little apartment, I really forgot to feel anything about it at all. I was too happy that Boyfriend and Biyfriend's wife were sharing time together to even spare a thought about wether or not my bed felt empty. I think the only thought I had about it was the same as every time I get to have my bed all to myself: Ahhhh! SPRAWWWWWL!!!!

This weekend I....

- saw a live performance of The Who's Tommy.
- held a real live piebald ball python (my "dream snake", which I can never have).
- learned about an adorable little constrictor that can't kill my cat and is surprisingly low-maintenance and affordable; perhaps I will have a pair some day far in the future.
- took care of the fish at work.
- saw a performance of Shakespeare's "A Comedy Of Errors".
- returned Dakan, now free of Oodinium, to his tank.
- fixed an oven.
- fixed a faucet.
- made a couple of trips to Osh to get faucet bits.
- grilled for people I love.

.... and now, I am going to go soak in a hot tub. I so seriously deserve it.

Oh. Also, my email has been spoofed :/

The Trouble With Tribulus....

Tribulus terrestris, that is.

The Goat's Head Burr.

I tremble in fear, now, at the thought of continuing to weed and restore the yard of my boyfriend and his wife.

Yesterday, boyfriend and I decided to tackle the many-feet-tall jungle of weeds overtaking the otherwise barren yard surrounding his house.

My dreams of turning the side yard into a maintenance-free carpet of Portulaca are slowly, slowly coming to fruition; the numerous plantlets planted several months ago by another-significant-other-of-his-and-I are steadily taking root and beginning to send out their runners of tiny iceplant leaves. Eventually, they will coat the side yard in short, drought-resistant foliage and small colorful blossoms.

To facilitate the spread of these delightfully hardy and strong plants, however, there will need to be a year or two of simple weed-pulling maintenance.

Simple.

Right.

Simple, but for Tribulus terrestris.

This low-growing evil spawn-of-the-devil plant produces numerous small yellow flowers that each result in a fruit of four or five little nutlets, each full of all the fury of hell.

These nutlets look much like a goat's or bull's head, and I've known them most of my life by one of the common names: Goat's Head Burrs.

They act like Caltrops (another common name for the nutlets - in fact, Tribulus is the Latin name for that well-known weapon); no matter how the nutlet falls, one of the two prominent spikes points straight up.

The only thing worse than walking on a Goat's Head plant in bare feet is trying to pull up that plant.

Wearing two pairs of gloves, I rolled the vines toward the bases of the plants. They were tangled with other taprooted sprawling weeds, and each time I came to the corm of a plant, I tried in vain to pull the root without injury to my hands.

Epic Fail.

Even just pulling the somewhat shallow roots of the non-Tribulus plants gave me numerous pokes from the burrs in the entwined vines. By the time I worked my slow, painful way to the corm of the largest Tribulus, my double-gloved hands were throbbing. My fingers were so stabbed from the damned thorns that I simply couldn't bring myself to attempt the root of the sprawling satan-plant and in fury, pain, frustration, and exhaustion, and tasting defeat, I found myself in tears.

After much cold water, many cuddles, and a fifteen minute break, I donned the gloves again. Several more painful attempts later, I finally ended up cutting the root below the corm. I hope to anything sacred and holy that it is dead. With that, I'd rolled up only half the thornéd carpet, and angrily tackled the rest. I admit I'm a wuss when it comes to my fingers. I yelped or whimpered at every excruciating stab. But I did it.

The Portulaca are no longer under a direct threat from hell.

And now, 24 hours later, two of my fingers are still somewhat numb.

Damn you, Tribulus terrestris, damn you to there from whence you came!

I now have a personal vendetta against the species. Murrrrrrrrrrrgh.