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Hellooo.

I’m warning you now, this is going to be perhaps a little disjointed. But you’re used to that by now.

It figures that the second my apartment is all put-together and decorated and swank, my camera runs out of batteries. Trust me, it looks good. I’ll have photographic evidence to support that claim at some point. Possibly.

Micci and Catherine and Micci’s son, Dahmian, were the first to see it in its completed state last night. Dahms walked in clutching a piece of notebook paper to his chest, then presented it to me. It’s a drawing of a girl with a castle, and reads: Congratulations on your new house Jenni and Merry Christmas. Someone out of the frame is saying, rad house, Jenni! and the girl is responding, thanks! It’s now on my fridge.

We went to Luce, since Micci had never been, and I am here to share the love. At dinner, the server came to ask about drinks; Dahmian told her he’d stick with water, but wanted to order the brownie sundae. He kinda killed me.

When they dropped me off, I came in and noticed that my cats were in the exact same formation they’re always waiting in when I get home. Chloe Sam has the couch, Cocoa has the loveseat, and Chiva has the chair. They arrange themselves by age/size/rank. I know this cannot be a coincidence. I resist the urge to shoosh them off the furniture; I plan on training them off it again, but as of yet they really have nowhere else to sit. Before there was a dog in the house, they were pretty good about the furniture: we had a tacit agreement that they didn’t go on it when I was around, so I could live under the illusion they were well-behaved. I know they sat on it, I’ve seen their fur. I’m also pretty sure they sit on my pillow and lick their butts, but it’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell operation as far as that’s concerned. It works for us.

Also, the mailboxes tell me that the person in the next apartment is named Hooper. I deduct from this that it’s the allegedly-deceased Mr. Hooper, and therefore I’m living next door to a childhood celebrity. Unless he really is dead in there; I haven’t actually heard any noise coming from that direction. Damn.

I’m more than a little excited that there are three coffeeshops within quick walking distance from my house. I went over to Urban Bean yesterday, because I figured that was closest until I remembered the blocks in this neighborhood are about eight times as long as they are wide. As I was freezing my ears off, I was recalling what it was like walking through Minneapolis on the 3day. It amazed us how much we noticed the tiny grade in the sidewalk, the way it slopes very subtly towards the street, and the way you have to step up or down not only at every intersection, but at driveways as well. It’s not something you pay attention to until you’ve been walking 30 or 40 miles, but then it becomes an exercise in torture.

Anyway, my second-choice coffeeshop is Butter, which I only like because of the name, and that’s not enough to redeem the fact their coffee tastes like cigarettes (I have noticed this phenomenon at Urban Bean and Bob’s, but it made sense because they allow smoking. Butter does not, and even though it’s owned by the same people who run Urban Bean, that just don’t make no sense). That leaves me with Dunn Brothers on 34th and Hennepin. Which I guess was already my new regular coffeeshop anyway. Done!

Today was cold and windy as all fizuck (but no snow yet, what the hell?), so I barely ventured out-of-doors at all. I wrote all my xmas cards, built this completely badass and ultrageeky user-tracking system for this here website (I could actually have it greet you by name, if you like), and I worked on my last big xmas-knitting project. The other day I had one of my usual ‘maybe I could do 10 things at once!’ ideas, and wanted to listen to audio books on my iPod while knitting. I have guilt over not finding time to read anymore. So I did some investigating and found that audio books are stupid expensive. Like, it’d be cheaper to pay that lady in the kids’ reading room at the library to come over and read to me while I’m knitting. What’s up with that? So I did what any normal law-avoiding citizen would do, I checked out the file-sharing sites.

As expected, I found what geeks typically read. Lots of sci-fi, Tolkien, Harry Potter, and more Star Wars books than I even suspected were possible. There’s tons of self-help (How to Get Yourself Laid Without Looks, Money, or Social Skills!), hypnosis, and like, ClancyGrisham crap. I did manage to score a few good things. I found both Ulysses and Finnegan’s Wake, a couple titles by the Dalai Lama, and today I started listening to On the Road by Kerouac. I have to say, it’s fucking awesome.

Also, if you know of a place I can find something on the order of, say, Palahniuk or Barbara Kingsolver or Ian McEwan or Alice Sebold, you should probably let me know, dude. Thanks.

Well, I’ve hit my word limit for today. As Grandpa Ripley used to say every night before bed, see you next week.
Jenni