When B moved in, we started a tradition of collecting and saving all of the pennies, nickles, and dimes (the occasional quarter, and strangely enough also stamps, subway tokens, and dog tags) that we randomly found on the street during our travels. Since then I've been amazed at just how much loose change is out there-- just hanging around waiting for a finder to become a keeper. How does it just "get" there?

Today, on my way from mailing a package at the post office to going to work out at the gym, I decided to run across the street to minimize my exposure to the elements. Suddenly, everything was cling-clangy-- and I could see all of the pennies and nickles from my post office change that had been tucked into the shallow pockets of my IMI hooded sweatshirt find a new home out there in the middle of Wisconsin Avenue.

Mystery solved.

So I booked our plane tickets today-- it's officially official that as a big, big bonus for my performance last year, B and I are going to enjoy an all-inclusive vacation in Aruba. Snow may be piling up here tonight, but my mind is already so far South off of the coast of Venezuela. That's South America. And that's a whole new continent! Number 4 (for me; number 5 for B): Check!

As a kid, I loved voting day. Our elementary school gymnasium would be closed during the school day since it doubled as our neighborhood polling place-- which meant no dodge ball for this less-than-athletically-inclined girlie girl. My mom was always busying herself about the school that day, managing a PTA bake sale-- which was the coolest of cool back in that innocent and perfect (read: pre-pubescent) time when you showed unbridled enthusiasm and pride in having your parents hang out inside of a one-mile radius of you in a public place. Then once my dad came home from work and after we ate dinner, we would all drive back to that gymnasium (cast in its dramatic night-time light which intrigued me so) in order for my parents to cast their own votes.

Let's be charitable and say that today's experience was slightly less fulfilling.

I can appreciate the DC activism which resulted in moving our primary before New Hampshire's, making it the first in the nation. The move (they thought!) would draw national attention to DC and educate Americans about the travesty of the DC resident's second-class citizenship: paying Federal taxes, fighting wars for our country, fulfilling civic responsibilities-- all without having any voting representation in Congress. However, these few words in this small-fry-venue media outlet is probably more national attention than today's "non-binding" primary was able to garner.

I had to do a bit of last minute research to determine which of the four major candidates I would vote for, because Kerry, Clark, Lieberman, Edwards, and Gephardt all withdrew from our ballot months ago. And research for what cause? My "non-binding" vote doesn't do a damn thing: doesn't choose a delegate or elect a candidate. I wanted my "I Voted" sticker to come with the disclaimer, "...but so what!" I didn't even check the news to find out if my "by default" candidate won.

I can get worked up about C-SPAN, but I can't get worked up about voting today. I feel cheated... and pathetic... and strangely ordinary. I live among monuments to justice and liberty, yet my civil rights cannot be found. It just... sucks.

B put up new lighting in the kitchen this weekend and now we loiter in there, soaking it up. Like tonight, with our bloody-mary-making buffet-- flirting over celery stalks and lime wedges. We spent the entire weekend in home improvement mode-- cleaning closets and files and sprinkling in a few new home touches. I think we're getting our space nice and comfortable-- because if this cold persists, we won't be going anywhere for a while.

And in other news, David makes me laugh with a new review, this time of Wicked. Enjoy!

B sleeps and I'm jealous. It's all midnight oil tonight to finish the presentation I'm giving in less than six hours from now. Most nights he calls me Chatty Cathy because I talk incessantly while he's trying to fall asleep. Tonight I'm clearly Clickity-Clack Cathy-- a bundle of annoyances. He's such a trooper, putting up with the light and the noise-- all the while staying on "his" side of the bed so that there's room for me when I finally call it a night... or a morning.

Lucky isn't the half of it.

One of my Christmas presents from B was the Pieces of April soundtrack, which coupled with the Lost in Translation soundtrack make up my two favorite musical experiences of the year. Stephin Merritt of Magnetic Fields fame compiled all of the songs for Pieces, some are borrowed from the Fields 69 Love Songs, some from his side project, the Sixths, but the rest are new... and absolutely lovely.

As a betrayal to my double X chromosomes, I don't spend too much time dreaming about a future wedding. But on the occasion when I do, part of what I imagine involves simply playing the 69 Love Songs from beginning to end-- laughing and dancing. Today while making lemon pesto kasha and pasta for lunch, I decided that I'd have to add these new little gems as well. Simple as worn cotton and as intimate as the secrets you'll never commit to a diary's page.

"One April day, we'll go miles away and I'll turn to you and I'll say: I've always loved you in my way."

Exquisite.

I don't think it's the final word on the Aruba trip, but my business cards arrived today with my new title (Consulting Manager) and underneath that the phrase, "President's Club Member". I got all giddy with the news that I wrapped up a bunch and sent them to my parents. They are legally bound to be proud of you for silly things like meeting 110% of your revenue goal to win a free all-inclusive trip to an island you can't even place on a map.

Between that and B's great news of securing a new contract position starting tomorrow-- it's been a pretty fab day. Never mind the spiders or panic attack at the cost of our grocery bill at Whole Foods (organic convenience = ungodly expensive) or the hasty Christmas tree removal or the reckless seminar prep procrastination or the scale at the gym. The sleep schedule is officially flipped, B made delicious spicy green beans for dinner, and we just found a great rate for B's mom and step dad at The Watergate for their trip here in March.

Really, it's all about the bright sides.

We weren't quite on track with our day, but we did enjoy it, nonetheless. Most recently exciting is the teaser trailer and casting list for the new Harry Potter due out in June. I had heard before that Gary Oldman was playing Sirius Black, but tonight was my first knowledge that Emma Thompson joined the cast as Professor Trelawney and that Mike Leigh film veterans David Thewlis and Timothy Spall are portraying Lupin and Pettigrew. I love it when casting directors do their job perfectly. In my own indie film experience, although my first and foremost assignment was location scouting and managing, I totally fell in love with the casting process. I believe these people have to have as much vision as the director-- truly understand the film they are making and know intimately which performer fits in there. Being an insanely visual reader, It feels so gratifying to have a casting director select the actor that was in my head while I was reading the book (Spall in this case; Todd Louiso as Dick in High Fidelity.) Anyway, a new year and new things to geek out on. I love my obsessive trysts with IMDB.

We're under enforced lock-down and tuck-in by 11pm tonight. B has had enough of daytime sleeping and nighttime carousing-- so we're attempting to reverse the affects tonight. Hence the early post.

Carl is in town-- or at least I've been told Carl is in town by a random email from a random guy telling me that I should call Carl on his cell to hook up. [From the email: "No, you don't know who I am, but doesn't that seem about right when dealing with Carl?" I couldn't have said it better myself.] I told B about the email when he woke up this afternoon-- and no sooner than 30 minutes later I received the sinking-in retort, "What kind of hooking up are we talking about?" Which brings me back to why we're attempting to get both awake and coherent before 10am tomorrow.

Tonight was lazy, with bill-paying, paper-reading, and B's fantastic homemade pork katsu-don. Tomorrow is a catch-all day: a walk, a movie, possibly some Carl, a little work to get prepped for the week, and of course, the first of the last episodes of Sex and the City. A huge agenda requiring a bit more than 4 hours of daylight. Wish us luck.

I was just sitting in bed listening to B click-clack his way around the keyboard, about to dig into a new diary-- when I realized that I have an old one that craves attention. This promises to be painfully banal, but when hasn't it been?

B says that we're suffering from excessive Indian food poisoning. Yummy curry and kheer at Bombay Bistro in Fairfax. Tonight we drove out to the burbs to visit the Super H Asian market and watch everything close earlier than was convenient for us. The Indian was a side treat.

We rung in the new year with happy happy clean the closet day-- I love it when B and I cruise on the same obsessive wavelength. We tossed several pounds of clothes into the Whole Foods collection bin and then took off for the GW parkway and some night-time picture taking, capped with cocktails from Bourbon and a subtitled Ang Lee film without tigers or dragons. All way too late for this Friday morning working girl. My sleep is all topsy-turvy from Christmas-- it's as if we vacationed in Fiji, that's how backwards my sleep schedule feels. Like now-- nearly 4am and I'm just riding in on a second wave. This does not bode well for productivity next week.

Oh-- and Cal McAllister from Ohio State's the Lantern circa early 1990s fame emailed me yesterday ("Texas Straw Hat everyday! If you don't serve it, I don't pay!"). Seems he found and misunderstood a past mention of him on these pages and wanted to defend himself. I've decided not to take the scary-stalker route (ahem, Michael and his Ty Wenger obsession) but instead let this be yet another confirmation that my past obsessions are pretty keen on googling themselves, finding their names here within, and then sending a note wondering just what the hell caused the lasting impression. I may be wiser to go all Carly Simon from now on.