Friend: John Adams on HBO. I am dying now that my free HBO preview is over. LOVE IT.

Enemy: 3/4 length sleeves. Seriously — What is the point? I want a short sleeve or a long sleeve. I don't want an in-between sleeve. Right now all I want is a normal cardigan sweater in navy blue or brown that I can throw in my bag in preparation for the upcoming alternating hot and crazy over air-conditioned season. Why can't I find one? Why do they all have to be cropped or shrugged or bedazzled or 3/4 length? Gah.

And now I look like a brace-faced teenager with a monster zit. It itches like crazy, too.

Please read this. It's long, and it might make you feel angry, sad, nauseated or ashamed, but I think it needs be read.

I can't imagine what it is like to see a soldier laugh as someone you love dies. I can't imagine what it's like to be a soldier under so much pressure and stress in an unfamiliar place. I'm not going to pretend to know how war is supposed to work. But I know that all citizens need to be treated with dignity and respect, no matter what country they happen to be from. I know that killing innocent people is wrong, here or there. I thought we all knew that.

So, I am in the lobby of my work building today, which is partly residential and partly commercial. I follow someone else in and at first she refuses to let me come after her. I give her an "I can't believe you" look and then she asks pointedly, "Do you belong here?" I say yes, and then make a big show out of taking my keys out and opening my boss's mailbox. The lady looks embarrassed and starts mumbling about security and then says all snottily, "Well, I'm sure you appreciate my concern for the building's security." Actually, Ms. Bitchy, I don't. Because even if I were breaking into the building, I would have said I belonged there. Duh. And I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have said anything if I looked rich, which, obviously I do not. This is not the first time this has happened to me here, so let me spell it out for you richies: If you are so concerned with disheleved 20-somethings intruding on your property, get a freaking doorman. You're rich enough. God.

Surprise.

I am saddened, and honestly kind of numb about the violence that occurred at Virgina Tech today. But I am not surprised. I was shocked and horrified and scared when those little kids shot up their school in Jonesboro, Arkansas. I remember watching the endless coverage of that tragedy, by myself, after school in my parents' house. When Columbine occurred, I was about to graduate high school. I was really, really shocked and shook up by that and to this day, I can recite some of the news coverage word for word. Then, when that gunman took over the Amish school last year, I was shocked and horrified once again. But that particular shooting turned a switch in me. At the time, I tried to make sense of my feelings by writing a long, angry, rambling post which I never published. Perhaps I will revisit that post once the numbness of this current tragedy has worn off. Basically, the executions at the Amish school made me realize that we can expect more gun violence in schools in this country — even in the Amish countryside. Even on Native American reservations. Even at Virginia Tech. So when I heard the news today, I wasn't surprised. Saddened, yes, but not surprised.

I finally have dental insurance, even though it only covers exams and cleanings. I have never had teeth problems — I'm a total grinder, but my teeth have always been functional, if mildly crooked and not quite movie-star white. Imagine my surprise to learn that I actually have eight cavaties. Or had, I got them filled, thanks to the power of the credit card. This is not the worst part, however. The worst part is that a lifetime's worth of grinding has shifted my formerly slightly crooked teeth into so freaking crooked I actually require braces to prevent more cavaties in my overlapping teeth.

Being melodramatic, I immediately emailed my mother about why she never got me braces as a teenager (I actually wanted them then, I thought they made you look older and cool) and why I should have to plunge myself further into debt at this late date. She basically said, suck it up, baby, which is probably what I would tell my whiny-ass adult child as well. Especially since, at the age of 57, my mom is currently rocking braces herself. I guess I probably shouldn't wait that long.

Please shovel your fucking sidewalks.

Love and kisses,

Kate

Last night I was talking to a fellow Temple student about the environment of our fair University. I really like going to Temple, as it is affordable (comparatively) and convenient for me. But the main campus is kind of. . . I don't know, unfriendly. I know unwelcoming campuses, as my undergraduate school was designed by a famous prison architect. Temple actually has a lot going on, but. . . not a lot to make you want to stay and hang out there. I mean, plant some flowers or something! Erect some non-institutional seeming coffee shops or bars right on campus. It's just not at all cozy, and I feel bad for kids who live in the dorms who have nothing else to do but, presumably, stay in their rooms and drink.

I guess I am naive, but I actually thought it was a good idea that someone decided to build a movie theater in North Philly. I told my classmate last night how excited I was. Then, this morning, I clicked on philly.com and read this. God, the thing has only been open two days. What is wrong with people?

You know, Gwyn, I think there are a lot of messed up things in this country, too. And I think it's great that some people have the luxury of choosing which country they would like to live in. But you know what makes me align myself with damn near every right wing yahoo in this country? When phony-baloney celebrities talk about how great other countries are and don't do a damn thing to improve things in the U.S. except make crappy movies and talk with fake British accents. If she lived here, I think I would be more receptive to hearing her criticism. But hearing her say all this stuff from her castle in Britain is just infuriating. It's like when someone from outside your family says something bad about your uncle who drinks too much and acts like an jackass on Thanksgiving. You can say it, because he's still your uncle. But Gwyneth Paltrow sure as hell cannot. Do us all a favor Gwyn, and shut up.

. . . And I am a huge baby. It scurried off somewhere and now I think I see it everywhere. I hate you, mouse!