"Who've you been cheating on me with?" asked Todd, the Firestone guy, after he looked at my car. "Who did the tie rod ends?"

I told him I hadn't had the tie rod ends DONE.

"Well, they're new," he insisted.

They shouldn't be. The car is seven years old, I've had it for almost three, and haven't commissioned that work to be done. Last time Firestone had it, they gave me an estimate, because they said it would need to be done. Todd fixed a $34 wire and my car is mended. I was so scared this morning when my Intrepid died on the road to work. But now it's all better. No check engine light, no stalling at intersections, no nothin'. But the question remains, and I don't think I need an answer, who did the tie rod ends? Evidently, some of my guardian angels wear tool belts.

Dude. I just watched several hours of "team coverage" on one of the news stations because we've got an ice storm. Bring in yo' tomato plants or they shall surely die. Oh, the humanity. Evidently my workplace is closed, and I can't get there anyway. Floods freak me out. Icy roads, THAT I can handle. I'm just afraid of all the other drivers. And they barricaded off every road around me, as if to FORCE me to stay home and watch soap operas today. Is this the pre-cognitive martial law nightmare I had a few weeks ago?

Tonight was the Gala. REALLY a good time. The food wasn't great, but it was fun to see everyone dressed up. After I had my Gala portait done, four other people wanted pictures with me. Funny. I guess I'm not comfortable with being hit on because I don't ever think they're serious. I'm not gonna transform anyone into a cockroach or anything. The photographer was this little Creole guy, and he looked up at me and said, "Whoa. Eyes."
"Two of 'em," said I. So, when the photos come back, y'all will see them.

Artemis, goddess of the hunt in Greek mythology, hated to choose to be attached to a man. She was the protector of youth and unmarried women. When a hunter once turned his attentions to her, she turned him into a stag and he was torn to shreds by his own hunting dogs. Dang.

Lorenzo took me to the Rodeo! We watched the barrel racing and bull riding and ouch! The mutton busters! I can't help but think that whoever decided to load up little kids on sheeps' backs and then have the sheep take off so the kid gets a mouthfull of manure was thinking that maybe it builds character.
I heard from Lorenzo all about how we would not have cowboys, had it not been for Mexicans, and I saw amazing stuff done on horses tonight.
Then Clay Walker appeared, and, despite the hoarse throat everyone's had in the last few weeks, sang so many of my favorite songs. He's blossomed into quite an entertainer from the performer he was when I was eighteen. I did not know he was from here. He jumped right off the nifty rotating stage to kick around in the manure a while. I'll bet he's a former mutton buster.
Down in Texas we like our cowboys, from big city bankers to the small town plowboys...everyone needs love.

In sixth grade, my girl scout troop toured KFYR/KYYY in Bismarck. The bug bit. In college, I worked at three different radio stations, at the same time. Now I'm standing here in the studio watching the San Antonio sun greet the I-35/Loop 410 Interchange (who am I kidding, it's gonna rain all day). Ah. I love this view. My weeklong coworkers ask if I ever get tired, working seven days a week, because I come to the radio station on weekends. No, I tell them, radio isn't work. It's like breathing. I have to do it.
Everyone wants to be able to do this. Everyone wants to play music and call it work. And I actually get to, and don't call it work. It's just what I do.

My old co-workers didn't speak to me in English. My new co-workers enjoy learning Jersey Girl phrases. I got promoted to the Star Team today.

...are working now. Speak, but be nice.

Ugh. I'm angry at City Public Service. I never turn on my heat or A/C, ask my family. And I was away for a week in December. And somehow, my December electric bill managed to double. And in January, evidently momentum kept it going. And last night, I couldn't watch tv or listen to the radio because the flippin' power was out at my entire apartment complex.
And this morning, a co-worker, with whom I'd been discussing carpooling for a week, said to me, "Oh, I just remembered I go powerwalking every morning, so I can't ride with you. But you're welcome to join us if you want."
This afternoon, I'm going to mandatory Compassion Training. I think I need chocolate to get some endorphins rolling and become a nice person again. I'm simmering inside. Remember the furnace in the basement of Freddie Krueger's house? That sound is how I feel, complete with razor-blade fingernails scraping along the wall.

I nearly sliced off a finger with a salmon can today. There was a lot of blood. I had a similar injury two years ago, after I moved into an apartment (as kind of a Living Skills experiment after my operation). That scar is further down on the same ring finger. Maybe subconsciously I'm trying to eliminate my empty ring finger? After I bled through the first wound-dressing, I was getting a new band-aid from the First Aid kit in the hall. A guy walked by (while I was Lamaze breathing due to the pain of the antisceptic on the cut) and said, "Don't type so hard."

Y'all might think this is real radio-geeky, but today I talked with a lady in New York named Betty, who has a scooter from The Scooter Store and long, long ago and far away worked with Milton Berle on the radio. She was nominated for a Tony Award. She thinks I have the most divine voice. What an exciting, interesting ten minutes that was. Light of my day. I set her up for maintenance on her scooter And she wants to be my grandmother.

It's one of those February days in Texas why I live here. It's seventy degrees in FEBRUARY, and the sun is shining and the sky is that Texas blue you see on postcards, with the Lone Star flag flying in front of it. I went out to enjoy it this morning.

And today, on the radio and on television, the news readers describe how the space shuttle "disintegrated in the sky over Texas." They're warning people, if they happen upon fallen debris, to not touch it, don't move it, and don't breathe the air around it. Cruel irony. This is one of those days when you wanna drive out into the Hill Country and breathe deeply the air of spring. I'm staying inside now, because W's gonna speak next.