Happy Independence Day! Hope everyone had a good Fourth o' July. "Hooray for the founders of America," as my dad said. That man cracks me up.

Yesterday morning, I woke up in terrible, horrible, no good, very bad pain. I tried not to cry. Then I cried a little. Then I took a Vicodin. Ah, Vicodin, my friend and my nemesis. Most, but not all, of my back pain went away after I took it. I felt really weird and high and finally fell asleep. I dreamt that Joe and I were going to smoke cigars together and that someone gave me pot, too. I put it in my pocket to smoke later. Except the pot from my dream was what we here in real life call guacamole. I was walking around with guac in my pocket, y'all. And I've never even smoked a cigarette, much less anything else. So I don't know what the hell that Vicodin was doing to my head, but it wasn't pretty.

Anyway, I spent most of yesterday feeling groggy, nauseated, and sleepy. Later in the day, after I woke up from my latest nap, Joe and I went to see "Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines," at the local theater. We saw fireworks in the sky as we drove down the freeway. We both wished we could go see Disneyland fireworks. Nothing beats those shows. The theater was essentially empty, as were the surrounding streets. Perfect night for a movie!

Inside, as we were watching soda bottles race on the screen ("Diet Coke takes the lead!"), I said to Joe, "I wonder if I should have seen the first Terminator movies before this one?"

"You've never seen them?!" he asked, shocked.

I had not. Except for maybe five minutes of "T2" on t.v. one time. Joe did a quick rundown of the movie plots for me and ended with, "So that's what happened in the second movie. And now, I guess we'll have to see what happens next." The lights dimmed; the trailers began. The man has perfect timing!

I thought it was a really cool movie! Today, Joe and I bought the first two Terminator movies on DVD. We watched the first one, which is pretty freaky and scary. Very intense! And oh-so-80s. I loved it! We'll watch the second one later tonight.

So that was essentially the whole of Independence Day for us this year. Also this week was July second. While just another day to most people, it does have a pretty large amount of significance in my life. July second is the day I moved down to California. We left Washington on July first, 1999, and made it into Los Angeles on July second, around 8:00pm. Not only has it been four years since I moved to California, it's been four years since I moved in with Joe. And it's been awesome, to say the least.

Five years ago, I drove my wonderful car home from the dealership.

Five days ago, I got the call. "Your insurance company has decided not to repair your car."

Four years ago, Joe and I arrived at his house, parked my car, and brought all my stuff inside.

Four days ago, I went to see it, cleaned out all my junk I'd left in there for far too long. Checked, double-checked, triple- and quadruple-checked that I had everything I still wanted and needed out of my car. My car whose front was missing, but who still looked exactly the same on the inside. I took all my stuff over to Joe's car and placed it in the trunk. I patted my car and said good-bye. My first car. The car I drove to Prom and Graduation. The car I drove to college for the first time. The car that brought me to my home in L.A., and my home here in the Bay Area. Lots of happy memories in that car.

"Good-bye, Bond," I said, feeling just a little silly. Talking to my car? Whatever. My feng shui book said it was a good idea. And in spite of a little silliness, it also felt like the right thing to do.

"Thanks for everything," I said, taking one last look. "Good-bye."