I had a wonderful plan for this weekend. Really. Saturday: plan my wedding registry with the Boy, go shopping with Stacy; begin historical research for my upcoming essays; club or party. Sunday: come home early; attend camp information session; get together with 2 of my bridesmaids to look at dresses. A very full plate, but I was ready...I carefully packed my bag full of clothes, papers and CD's. I even brought along a Varley novel for down time, a Kathy Smith video in case I had the chance to exercise and a Bible for the Boy to pick readings for the ceremony.

Well. Do I need to tell you that I overestimated my abilities? 1) I never managed to call Stacy or my bridesmaids; thus drastically reducing the possibility of seeing them. 2) The Boy & I spent 5 1/2 hours in the Bay without finishing the registry list. I never made it to the library. 3) Exercise on a weekend? I should have my head examined. Of course that never happened.

The registry was both more and less fun than I expected. Less, because we spent a lot of energy "discussing" such Nobel Prize-winning thesix as "why we need three sets of china," "...but those are beach towels," "no one will buy us an R2D2 phone," "why the 2 1/2 foot pepper mill is for display purposes only" and my personal fave: "eggbeater?" I'm not saying who belonged to the various sides, but I will say that it hurts to be called a 'dish hoarder.'

But it was also more fun than I expected. The Boy has a way of improving reality, and I often find that the more stressful a situation could be, the more I end up laughing. So that's all good.

But we must never lose sight of the main point: this ate up my entire Saturday. I've never spent so many moments acting anal-retentively materialistic in my whole life. And I'm trying very hard not to freak out about the fact that it is 10x more difficult for me to do research when all the libraries are in another city.

I'm trying, but I'm not succeeding very much.

Of course, it doesn't help that the Boy's cat spends all night scratching at the door and meyowing. Between her antics (the cat's I mean) and the Boy's repeated trips to appease her, I was awake for hours on end last night. He says that she only does it when I'm over. Wow, what a relief. (In case you don't know, I'm being sarcastic).

"I will learn to love your sisters, Marge. And then I'll hug poisonous snakes. Yes! I will kiss...and hug...poisonous...SNAKES. [pause] Now that's sarcasm."

I tell you, in the middle of the night when I every sound is an ice pick through my forebrain, I fantasize about giving her a good swift punt. I'd never do it. I'll curse and gesture at her, but I'd never hit her. What's the point? 1) She wouldn't be any less spoiled. 2) She'd have a legitimate reason to hate me. 3) I wouldn't be able to stand myself. I tell you though...if I could make her a well-adjusted, considerate creature with a smack...you know, solve the root problem by expanding her desires beyond being loved at 3 a.m....well, she'd be on a rapid trajectory in no time. I don't suppose any of you would ever be driven to contemplate violent revenge on a poor innocent creature who doesn't know any better. I guess that makes me a horrible person.

"And you, sir, are worse than Hitler."

In the morning, the Boy & I fantasized about solving our problems the fashionable way: letting a talk show host arbitrate. I think the issue would work particularly well on the "paranoid older generation" vibe on Sally. We could call the episode "Help! My cat is out of control!" Of course, the show would end with the cats sent to boot camp. And that just isn't productive.

The camp information session was surprisingly positive. I spent most of the time talking to returning counsellors: catching up, laying plans, that sort of thing. One of the girls used to run dances and stuff during activity time, so I'm thinking of bringing the Boy's arsenal of make-shift percussion to camp and teaming up with this girl to run a jam session. My only problem is the eternal fear: that the kids won't like it. But there's nothing I can do about that.

I'm not 100% enthusiastic about choosing another month of camp-related problems, but at the same time I'm looking forward to it a little. I think I'm a far better person with kids, thanks to my time in junior high. Plus, I probably won't be horrendously lonely. For some reason, I've become more popular with the returning counsellors than I was during the actual camp session. In fact, my biggest communication headache was the first to rush over and hug me today. We bonded during the camping weekend, so it's not completely out of the blue, but it's still pretty odd when you think about it. Which I do.