O N E H U N D R E T H P O S T ! ! ! !

TA DA! This is my 100th post! Hurray for me.

I saw a crazy lady today. Really, she was a certified, media-stereotype, insane person. There I was standing at the travel section at the Barnes & Noble (browsing "More Amazing Adventures for Kids in San Diego") when I sensed a person standing next to me. She was small woman, wearing a very ornate peasant skirt, winter coat, and a large sequined barrette in her hair that made it stand up like Pepples Flintstone. She was talking to someone. Odd. The someone wasn't there and she was speaking quite loudly in a conversational tone. Perhaps the someone was on the other side of the isle, yes, that must be the case. But the more she talked the more I realized she was addressing a crowd, or being interviewed for something which she was giving her opinion. She was on a tirade. Some of the words I caught were "...In my opinion...Those people...Hatred, scoundrels." I looked up at her. She looked at me, but continued on as if I were one of the crowd, which I'm sure I was. I could have moved. I could have escaped, but she got to the part about the "...Wet-backed barbarian..." And, I'm ashamed to admit, I remained in my place pretending to read the book. She wondered off as gracefully as she appeared. I torn with my feelings about this woman. I was sad for her, yet strangely amused.

Speaking of crazy women, I have been on an emotional roller coaster for the past three days. I'm having moments of anger (Mark getting the brunt of that) and moments of teariness. I guess it's about time for pre-PMS, but this is unusually wicked. I must have scared Mark because he set me up for a massage tomorrow and suggested I go out this afternoon for some alone time. He knows me well. When witch woman visits, just wait it out and give her plenty of space. Carrie will return in 3 to 5 days. Poor guy.

Speaking of poor guy. We have this cat, Frankie. Frankie lived in a shelter for his first three years of life. He had a bone problem on his cheek and endured a very long treatment involving vet clinics, bone removal, and one of those collar thingys animals have to wear that make them look like daffodils. He is extremely shy, which is why Mark chose him of all the cats at the shelter. He came to us in February 2000 and has favored Mark to all other people. In the six years I have known Frankie, he has never jumped any furniture that we were occupying (barring Mark's chair while he was trying to work, an irony that I secretly savor.) As I type this, Frankie is sleeping next to me on the couch. Six years this cat has lived with us, and he finally sits on the couch.
***It just occurred to me that we had a large brown couch until we moved to California. We now have a small green couch. Perhaps he did not like our previous choice. He is a bit of a snob.***

Speaking of snob. Divina has a diaper rash. She's only had one before and we thought for sure it was herpes. When we took her to the emergency clinic, the doctor laughed at us for being so paranoid. It was sort of funny. That story has nothing to do with being a snob, but I had to keep the flow.

So that was my 100th post. I feel the same. I turn 35 next month. Is that a sock on your nose? (Only people who watch Noggin will get that.)