Sometimes I want to grow talons like Wolverine and just rip myself out of my life. I'm so well-behaved; I lead such an orderly existence.

I do have those moments when I look around and think "this is it?" But then I've got the sense to know that it was hard enough work to get to this point, and besides it took me forever to figure things out.

When you're a girl, you dream about growing up. Then when you're grown...well there you are.

Sometimes you want to toss your real life away and have an adventurer's life where things come easy and conversation always sparkles and there's not a decomposed mouse corpse under your desk at work.

Mope.

Oh, I'm very excited. I'm going dancing tonight. Yes, on a school night, and a Monday at that. :) I am an international playgirl.

In Entertainment News, I did do some dancing at the annual Marco Hunting and Fishing Club crab feast this weekend. Small Fry (formerly Sweet Potato) wouldn't do the cha cha slide with me, even after I gestured around the ball room of hunting and fishing enthusiasts and said "I gay-run-tee you that nobody who knows you is here." Mr. Fry, the Alaskan mathmatician, amused himself by constructing an awesome Jenga-style tower of crab mallets. It really was a good time, though on top of Friday night's basket bingo (The House - 20, Petard - 0), I might as well change my occupation to retiree about town.

On Saturday, I did nothing. Absolutely, sweet, beautiful nothing. Except I read Lireal by Garth Nix, which is the sequel to Sabriel. Abhorsen is the next in the trilogy. Dr. Y, I think you'd like these. Very morbid. Not as cerebral as His Dark Materials, but still good.

Oh, I'm also joining a book club. We're going to brunch in October and discuss The Kite Runner. Hummmm.

Well, I had a date last night. A pathologist who went to Brown. We had Matthew's Pizza, which is by reputation the best pizza in Baltimore, and I should say that I agree. It's pretty damn good.

Well, I had this date and when I came home, I noticed my apartment was quite hot. It was about 60 degrees outside, so I opened a window. Didn't help much. Thought about turning on the A/C. Luckily, I ventured into the kitchen and finally noticed that I'd left the stove on. For four hours. Yeek! If I don't get a day of rest soon, something or someone is getting immolated.

Ack. I am beat. I've had a large number of non-playgirl related obligations, and I've been rendered mostly incoherent with exhaustia. So exhausted that in my befuddlement, I burned my arm on a dish of chicken that I was taking out of the oven. I've got a cool burn, now. Sort of looks like a ritual scarification...The ritual of the chicken dish...

See what I mean. In-co-freakin-herent.

Do Germans read Men's Health while sitting on the can?

And Drs. C and Y have given me a great idea for a list.

Books Not To Mention If Your Intention Is To Pick Up Chicks:

• Silas Marner
• Pamela
• The Awakening

Feel free to add or dispute, dear common taters.

Why I Like Foreigners:

Back in college, the older, wiser friend who introduced me to the international set explained her social choice this way: they've at least learned one other language, so they must be smart.

Last night, I had a wonderful evening with the Potatoes (Mr. is Alaskan, so he's almost foreign.), The Flying Dutchman (he of the not calling; it was only momentarily awkward), and three new Indians (subcontinental). I can't think of names for them, since their very own are so melodic and interesting.

Anyway, we went bowling, and to dinner, and then a bar with matresses. It was trying to be chic, not ironically vulgar, but the way you got a matress was to buy a bottle of champagne, so in my opinion, they can have the most recessed lighting and cubist furniture in the world, but it's still a yuppie brothel. Not that I've anything against yuppie brothels.

You may be wondering if there were sparks between the Dutchman and I, and I'd have to say no, although I did insult him quite gratifyingly when he told me he planned to read Wuthering Heights, and I said wasn't that a bit gay, and he should only do so in private and not tell others. Then, one Indian overheard and lept in mock homophobic horror, which left the Dutchman quite discomfitted and pretending he wasn't. And he got several gutter balls. I must confess my malice and do penance. It's beneath me, really...

Well, loyal reader(s), I ALMOST achieved the trifecta today. The trifecta, of course, being two picnics and a re-enactment of the Battle of North Point. Well, the family feasted and then I picnicked hardy with the Snake Hunters. (I'll call them Nag and Nagiana after Rikki Tikki Tavi.) But alas, I was too much of a coward to watch the re-enactment alone...After consideration, the whole thing is not unlike Barbaro breaking his leg in the Preakness, thereby dooming his bid for the Triple Crown.

Or perhaps it is not like that at all.

As you know, I've been thinking about friendship. Everyone with a subscription to a news weekly knows that Americans have statistically one fewer friend than they used to, and that social bowling leagues are in decline. I think the cause is the same for this as for much else: we can't be bothered.

Making a friend takes time and effort and listening and after all the expension of energy you've got a friend, who you soon enough discover to be a human being, with all the foibles of humanity, so much like yourself. Where is the custom fit, the personalization, the designed with me in mind to meet my needs? Just like most things, it comes right around to selfishness.

I am a lucky girl, to know so many messy human beings.

Well, the tail end of Ernesto is darkening my doorstep, and making me think meloncholy thoughts. Last night, Swims with Dolphins, Cptn. America, the Potatoes, and the Fox hung out, theoretically to play games, but in practice to eat grapes and shoot the shit.

I am trying to get the Fox onto a roller derby team, since she is the perfect combination of athleticism, vulgarism, and zest for life.

I've been having thoughts about friendship...I think you must be willing to be pleased and willing to be attached and willing to forgive and laugh. Like other things in my life, I know the value of friendship from doing without. How can people not nurture it, when it is so easy and pleasant to do so?

I hope Ernesto vamos-es soon. If he lingers, I'll soon be spouting mutilation poetry.