Now here's some curious statistics. The number of entries I wrote for Aries Moon in 1997 was 237. In 1998 it was 220. In 1999, it was again 220. That's 60% of 365 days, or three fifths of the year. I seem to be remarkably consistent in how much I write without planning it in the least.
Oh, look, another one of my great ideas made manifest long after I forgot to actually execute it. I started writing a dog test in 1997. I wonder why I didn't finish it? Anyway, here is my test result:
You are most like a PEKINGESE. You are a member of the most socially elite breed. You are probably a high maintenance individual who is extremely aware of appearances and the newest trends. Chances are you thrive on the admiration of others, and you feel most comfortable when in the company of a classy and well-groomed crowd. You like to be the leader of the pack and are very interested in gossip. Although you would choose to be put on a pedestal, you would probably settle for a seat next to the most prestigious socialite. Some might consider you snobby or pretentious, but you prefer to think of yourself as fashionable and classy. You are probably an admired individual from whom others seek approval.
What do you mean, probably?
Meanwhile, my congratulations to Ceej on her purchase of a house. I'm happy for her, especially since she's trying to start a family, but I'm fighting the most nauseating feeling of jealousy. I'm aware that most people in my community have a great deal more money available than I do, which normally doesn't bother me in the least, except in this specific situation of house buying. I don't care if someone made fifty gazillion bucks on their IPO. I'm not jealous of people who drive Mercedes and Jaguars and Volvos. I don't take the kinds of risks they take in their job or with their money, so naturally I don't make their kinds of gains. But oh, it hurts to see someone else spend a mere month looking for a house and buying a beautiful place in a nice neighborhood after only three tries. I'm still looking at and rejecting iffy homes in iffy neighborhoods and feeling like a big fat loser for not having half a million dollars to spend on my first house. I am horribly, miserably jealous. My green humour is made worse by the corollary of guilt for feeling that way. If I'd wanted a house I should have cut up my credit cards. I should have set money aside each paycheck, and stayed home instead of haring off to exotic lands. Everyone makes choices, and I made mine, so this jealousy is particularly distasteful to me.
Now I'm going to take my classy ass off to bed and contemplate my high maintenance. The butler will see you out.
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