I am going to Japan tomorrow and am unconvinced about the sugar substitutes I will find there, so earlier I was talking to MNLS on the phone whilst scooping stevia into a small container that used to hold catnip.

ME: (realising how bad this looks) Do you think I'll have any problems bringing a vial of white powder on the plane?

MNLS: What is it?

ME: Stevia

MNLS: Is the vial clearly marked?

ME: It will be once I write "stevia" on it with a Sharpie. Do you think that'll do the trick?

MNLS: No. And don't call me for bail money this time.

Today, at work, I needed to highlight something on a piece of paper. I went rummaging around in the supplies cupboard for just the right highlighter, since I decided I didn't want to use to orange one on my desk. I have a HUGE tin of pens on my desk, completely rammed full. I want, nay, I NEED to have the right pen for any occasion. I am the same at home, but I am less organised about it - the pens are all over the house. I can never have enough different types of pens to feel totally secure.

And that got me thinking about my other recent obsession - sheets. I feel like I need to have nice, high(ish)-quality sheet and duvet sets that, if not match, look nice together. It's like I feel my validation as a bona fide adult rests on my linen closet. I want pretty, fluffy towels for visitors, and nice sheets on the bed at all times. It's weird, the things that I am resting my hat on in order to feel like an adult. It made me wonder if anyone else felt the same way, so I posted this to Facebook (my thoughts were edited down to fit in the 420 character max):

"I keep thinking that everything will be all right as long as I have the perfect pen at my disposal for any eventuality, and an indeterminate number of sets of non-ratty sheets (I'll know when I reach the right #). I've never managed to achieve either, and thus am forever dissatisfied but always hopeful of success. Does anyone else have a random & maybe unachievable goal that will make them feel like actual grownup?"

The first response was:

"Being able to help my kids pay for college?"

I deleted my status. Needless to say, I feel like a complete tit.

I went to the eye doctor today. After getting busted by my doctor reading a three-month-old version of People, I picked up a copy of Highlights to leaf through. Much to my consternation, I realised quickly that it's not the Highlights of my youth, so I had to write MNLS.

Cara: Noooo! Highlights doesn't have Goofus and Gallant anymore! Lame!

MNLS: Are you going to cancel your subscription?

I was walking in Runyon Canyon recently, which I often do on my own, and I like to entertain myself by counting fake racks or earwigging conversations. I locked into a particularly interesting one, where a guy was talking about dog merkins (wtf?!) in an attempt to impress his walking companion. But I only caught the end of the merkin conversation, unfortunately.

Girl: Wow! That's so funny.

Guy: Ha ha, I am really a great resource for interesting animal trivia ha ha.

Girl: Rilly? How cool!

Guy: Yes, you can always count on me for some sort of interesting fact. Like, for instance, did you know that alligators eat rocks so that they sink further in the water?

Girl: Wow! Rilly?

Guy: Yes! Very cool, huh?

Girl: (with a straight face) Do birds eat rocks so they can land easier?

At this point, the guy actually turned and looked at this girl with an expression that clearly said, "I think you are actually too dumb to shag, if there is such a thing". Maybe I was reading into things, but I doubt it.

More yoga etiquette from MNLS:

"I learned today that in drop-in yoga classes, always inform the teacher ahead of time that you do not want to be adjusted. Because he just might be a self-appointed guru who will chide a student for trying to catch her breath and try to touch you even after you've snatched your arm away. Also, he might have a HUGE CLOWN TATTOO and therefore be carrying scary clown diseases."

I love my weird life.

When I was 21, I lived in Guatemala for three months. I worked in a health clinic delivering babies with one of the most amazing women in the world, a nurse named Rosario. This tiny force of nature had graduated second grade at the age of 33, and yet had gone on to become a nurse, and travelled with Rigoberta Menchú when she won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1992. My father and mother have done a lot of work to raise money in order to support her health clinic and help her send other promising Guatemalan women to train to be nurses in the tiny town of San Juan Ostuncalco. We went back to Guatemala a few years ago together, partially because I wanted to show my ex-husband where I had lived, and partially because I wanted to see it for myself again, and reconnect with Rosario and her sister Maura. This woman will never cease to astound me.

Tonight I was having dinner with a friend, her sister and her sister's Guatemalan boyfriend. I mentioned that I had lived there, and that I had lived in a little town called San Juan Ostuncalco. Well, so had he. And he's pretty sure Rosario is his dad's cousin. So bloody amazing.

When I was 22, I worked in a shop called Mission Traders. We sold all sorts of artisan goodies from around the world, and had some sufficiently ethnic music on the stereo at all times. There was an African song that I thought was so joyful that it nearly made my heart explode every time I heard it. But I never wrote the name or the singer down, so it's haunted me for years. I would hear it occasionally, but with no context, and there's no search mechanism yet on Google for me to hum a few offkey bars of a song I heard 15 years ago and it will search for me (note to Google; you can have that idea for free).

Then I was driving home tonight (listening to the news on BBC world service that Spurs had trounced Wigan 9-1) and they played a little bit of a lovely African song, and I perked up because I wanted to hear the name of the singer; it was Miriam Makeba, also known as Mama Afrika, who died about a year ago. They then launched into another song, Pata Pata. I very nearly burst into tears of joy and relief. It was my song, at last. And I now see reading the Wikipedia entry on her that she died singing that very song.

I am grateful for my weird and wonderful life, I am grateful for the amazing people who fill it, and I am grateful for the BBC World Service.

Apparently my taste in cars runs along the same lines as 70s African Dictators' tastes. Or so I am told.

MNLS and I have decided to take a rather scary leap and go on a trip together. We have been discussing locations; her only requirement is sun and san (which is weird because she is vampirely pale)(yes, that is a word). We have narrowed it down to Spain and Greece, possibly Granada or Santorini, and are currently debating the virtues of both.

MNLS: well, it'll be nice to see some Minoan ruins

CG: yeah
I was thinking there or Granada
but honestly I have always wanted to go to Santorini
Not Grenada
Spain

MNLS: and while you may speak Spanish, I do know enough Attic Greek to be able to praise a eunuch for his poetry recital.
v useful.

Me: ...

Phew, that should keep us out of scrapes!

I just somehow managed to put a courgette through the wash with a dark load.

Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.

– Lynda Barry