Krissy Kat�s head might explode. The back of it�s not going to blow off, but confetti may abound in every color of a baboon�s ass. Go tell her how fantastic she is. All three of you. ;-)

This is a mermaid of a gal who has never failed to inspire me on so many levels and she needs to know how rockin� she is. I mean, she knows. She really knows. But you know how it is�most of us are so sensitive. If we�re not, we�re pretending. At least that�s what I tell myself to get through the days when I have fleets of pterodactyls (can�t believe I spelled that on the first try) pressing at my stomachular walls. There. I had to go and spoil my stellar spelling of prehistoric beasts with a fabricated word.

Speaking of which��prehistoric�? How arrogant are we, as humans to call everything that came before us �prehistoric.� I know�I get the etymology of the word. The feel of the thing still hints at our hubris.

Anyway, point being� I know we look at each other�s favorite diaries and whatnot, but finding her link might be difficult since Krissy Kat has made the gigantic leap from Boston to Seattle, from diaryland to her own tremendous domain (I don�t care how tall y�are�that�s some leap).

Krissy, we need to talk. I, too, have been all eye-twitchy and shit traversing a sea of icky criticism. I�ll call you tomorrow and we�ll fuck with this shit. Or something.

It could be worse:

I love the Cambridge Antique Market