On Friday night I attended a party that was broken up by the police. You can imagine my excitement, since this has never happened to a party I have attended. Not even in COLLEGE, not that I attended all that many parties in college. Getting drunk at home is way too appealing for me to not be an alcoholic. Oh, but I'm not.

At the party, which was a Halloween party, I developed a crush on Harry Potter character. It turns out he's gay in real life, but for that one night I got to get drunk and daydream about how Harry and I would lead such a happy life together. (There were no Rons there, so I couldn't daydream about him. I'm a very visual person.) Also, I was the only person not dressed up at the party. While filing past the three police officers in the hallway on the way out, I was really wishing I could have gotten my mitts on a cop costume for just that one moment.

A man in a trenchcoat and a top hat stopped us on the way back to the car (which was seven blocks away, at the hotel) to ask us if we wanted to do a good deed. He also told us not to be scared. Something tells me that at 2 am on a Saturday morning, when a shady-looking man tells you not to be scared, that he wants you do to a good deed for him, then you have EVERY REASON TO BE SCARED. I told him I was burnt out on good deeds for the evening, but thanks for asking, and have a WONDERFUL night. He told me to go to hell. Go figure.

Finally, I watched Monsters, Inc. for the first time last night and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Sometimes I feel like Darren and I are already married. Case in point:

Last night I demanded of him in a whiny fit why HE never asks ME to clean the kitchen in the nude. He paused, as if to contemplate, then told me, "I'd be interested to see you clean the kitchen at all."

On Wednesday I went to Cindy's funeral, I received three INACCURATE bounced check notcies from stupid Wells Fargo and, for the first time in my life, I made turkey.

Thursday and Friday weren't quite as exciting, thank goodness.

If you are in my presence, you will never cry alone.

Today I attended a funeral for one of my co-workers, Cindy. She was 52 when she died on Sunday after battling cancer on and off for five years. Cindy and her step-daughter were diagnosed with cancer within two days of each other, Cindy with breast cancer and her step-daughter with brain cancer. In August, her step-daughter was given six months to live. Today she stood up and gave a poignant account of Cindy as she knew her. Holy Lord did I cry.

I only worked with Cindy for two months, but in that short time it was clear how special she was. You could never meet a more happy-go-lucky person who has no hair and whose vocal chords and facial muscles have been paralyzed by chemo. OK, so you probably couldn't meet a more happy-go-lucky person, period.

I was one of the people who knew Cindy for the shortest period of time at her funeral today and I was probably one of the people that cried the most. How unfair for such a beautiful person to die so soon? She touched so many lives and all I kept thinking about was her poor 16-year-old son. Could there BE a more difficult time to lose your mother? Of course then I would think about losing my mom…or my sister…or my anyone, and then I'd cry harder. I don't recall crying at funerals before, but today I realized that it's been eleven years since I've attended a funeral and I've gone through puberty since then. Puberty changes everything.

Death has been on my mind too much lately, what with the dead gal on the sidewalk last week and Cindy dying on Sunday. It makes me feel guilty for everything unkind or unfair that I have done in my life, for complaining about walking up three flights of stairs when some people are too weak to walk at all...for bitching about not getting to go to the movie I want to go to when so many people can't even see…for whining about how my hair looks when Cindy was bald and smiling until the day she died.

I think it's a good time so try to start being more thankful for what I have because if I died today, I would have more regrets than I'd be able to count. Here's to being a better person, eh?

Today I walked out of the apartment building to cross the street to my bus stop and there was a dead person on the sidewalk. I never expected to walk out to that on a Tuesday. Friday maybe, but never Tuesday.

There's something about dead people that freaks me out. Especially when it's pouring outside and the sun has just come up and there are police cars everywhere and there's a body where I'm supposed to be walking. It was covered, yes, but an arm and a couple of legs were peeking out.

Needless to say I took the long way around - away from the body, through the soggy grass - to the crosswalk, which I used like a good pedestrian. You see, this young woman got hit by a man on a motorcycle and died...shortly before seven this morning. I know this girl. She waits for the bus with me. If I had been working the early shift this morning, I would have seen the whole thing happen. I've been thanking God all day that I didn't work the early shift today.

I also never use the crosswalk when I go to the bus stop, which is where this lady was going. When she got hit it was dark and raining and she got hit by a motorcycle, which happens to only have one headlight as opposed to the standard two. I can't help but think it could have been me, with my nearsightedness and lack of depth perception. However, she had dark skin and wore dark clothing and I don't think there's any way anyone could miss my glowing skin, dark and rainy as it may be.

I had a rough morning. I shook for quite a while and I wasn't even able to read Harry Potter on the bus. That's pretty bad, my friends. Death is just too easy to get to, and I really don't like seeing it gotten to on my sidewalk. By a woman who lives in my apartment building and waits for the bus with me. Yech.

Don't get dead, guys. Just don't, K?

I can't follow you this time, Ang

Angie passed her drug test and now she lives in Duluth. Since last night no fewer than 16 random volcanoes of tears have erupted from my beady little eyes. Angie's moving. Leaving me. Going closer to home, to Duluth, where I WANT TO BE. What the hell am I doing down here, anyway?

I'm pretty devestated that Angie's gone. I know I am truly upset about it, but I also have PMS which helps nothing. I cried when I walked into her living room last night and it was all packed up. I cried when I woke up in her bedroom this morning. I cried the second we started walking out to the car for her to bring me to my home...my stupid little city home. I cried all the way home. Every one of her CDs I threw in the player reminded me of some memory we had.

I don't understand why I'm so upset. It's not like she's dying or anything. Besides, now I'll have a floor to crash on without feeling guilty every time I want to visit Duluth. I think the problem is that when Neej left Tower to go to school in Duluth, I followed her just as soon as I could. When she finished school and moved to the Cities, I followed her once I found someone to hire me. Now she's going back to Duluth...nine months after I move away from there. For the love of God, woman! Make up your mind. However, Darren has recently told me that he'd like to move to Duluth. So, in about a year or a year and a half...if we can both find jobs there... Who knows, we'll just have to see.

Right now Angie is in Duluth, where she will go to our Perkins and our Target and our Super One and our Lake Walk and our Pure Pleasure, ALL WITHOUT ME. Sometimes life sure isn't fair, but I hope she really enjoys it there. I know I would.