A whale of a tale and it's all true; I swear by my tattoo.

Am I the only one who is slightly disturbed by this whole bin Laden thing?

I got a sales call this morning at work--some bargain basement health insurance company trying to sell us a new insurance plan. The woman who called, right before she hung up, said "We finally got him! God bless America."

I managed to mumble something like: "....ummm..."

But thankfully she hung up, so I was saved from having to comment. 

I dunno. I'm really not that knowledgeable about the whole situation with Pakistan and Afghanistan and Iraq and the War On Terror™, so I should probably just shut up, but I do know that I am not ok with this. Something about these news reports of bin Laden's death and people celebrating outside the White House and waving flags and chanting at the Twin Towers site just rubs me the wrong way. A nagging feeling that won't go away, like when you leave the house and you're almost certain you left the back door unlocked...

It goes back to when those planes crashed into the towers. At 17, I knew even less about the politics of the whole situation, but I had the same nagging feeling when I heard about the subsequent invasion of Iraq (because when one country attacks you, it makes perfect sense to attack their neighbours?) and the hunt for Osama bin Laden "DEAD OR ALIVE!!" I'm not sure what it was, but I do know that it felt like something was missing. Some crucial piece of the whole that left me feeling like all the stories they put on the news didn't add up. 

Forgive me if I sound unpatriotic. I don't think bin Laden was the one and only criminal mastermind behind 9/11 (umm, duh?). And I don't think him being dead changes anything. 

In more pertinent news:

- My house has been invaded by ants.

- I have acquired a new My Little Pony--a gorgeous little lad named Ice Crystal

Methinks there may be a romance blooming with Sugar Apple....

- I am fat.

Liquid fasting today and tomorrow, and possibly Wednesday. One of my old rules is that for each day of bingeing I had on the weekend (2 days this past weekend, Friday and Sunday), I must liquid fast (>200 cals) for one day. But since today is a writing workshop day, I would normally liquid fast anyway because I don't get to go to the gym; so for that I might add an extra day and fast until Thursday morning. 

Mum knows what she's doing, despite her "oh I just thought I'd get you a little treat" excuses. Every mothereffing time she does the food shopping, she comes home with a family size box of Cocoa Pebbles.

It's a silent battle of wills. She knows I don't eat enough, but she doesn't know what to say or do about it. (Our family is like this with everything that could be potentially scandalous, or involving any kind of mental health issue--we don't talk about it.) So in an attempt to get me to eat, she sneaks gateway foods into the cupboards. I managed to resist the Cocoa Pebbles on Saturday, but caved last night. I had 2 bowls (go me! not the whole box!). Then this morning, after Mum left for work, I took the box outside and dumped the rest of the cereal out in the woods behind the shed.

My neighbours must think I am a complete loony. I'm not really bothered if anyone sees me being crazy or whatever, and I am at my most uncensored when I'm at home. Over the years, the neighbours have seen me frequently leaving the driveway only to do a circle in the cul-de-sac and go straight back into the driveway again (because I have to go back and make sure I didn't leave the doors unlocked/windows open/stove on/tumble dryer door open/etc.); wandering round my bedroom completely nude with the blinds open (I don't like them closed--I get claustrophobic); attempting to garden 

I like to think that I'm Really Into Gardening, but that doesn't go so well when you have an epic worm-phobia

that leads to frantic vomiting, usually into the neighbour's yard.

And of course, there's the dumping of food out behind the shed onto what is very obviously not a compost heap.

The raccoons have apparently cottoned on to the fact that someone in my house is the source of the food pile behind the shed. Daisy the fat cat had a spastic freak-out last night when she espied a raccoon knocking on the back door. (It was super cute--it had its hands up against the glass and was peering into the kitchen.) Daisy was kind of cute too, puffed up to 3 times her usual size

and attacking the glass, then tearing around the house and knocking things over, freaking out Callisto,

 and freaking out Mum,

 before she finally ran out of energy and collapsed.

One of the many reasons that cats are superior to dogs. :D