Your name is important, whether you like it or not. It's an external identifying factor that separates you from the masses. Remember how excited you would get finding that bicycle license plate with your name on it? I don't. I never will. If my name is on anything it's because I put it there. My name is uncommon, and it wasn't until my late teens that I began to appreciate its uniqueness. As a child I faithfully watched Romper Room in hopes of hearing my name on TV. At the end of every show the woman would hold up this 'magic mirror' and look out to the viewing audience, she would then name all the kids she saw. I was front and center of my TV set, willing her to see me, just this once! But she never did. I would hear, "I see Brittany and Bobby, Jennifer and Jason", and I would think to myself, "Biatch – you said those names 3 times this week!" The point is, at long last there is redemption for Timika! I came across a posh hotel in my name, but it gets better. There's an airport called Timika and even an entire town named Timika, in Indonesia! Maybe my name is Indonesian. I was named after one of my mom's army buddies, but no one ever knew the origin. You might think I'm silly for getting so excited about it, but when you've spent your entire life defending your name, it's big potatoes. Now you might be wondering how it's pronounced anyway. The best tutorial I can offer without speaking it, not that speaking it guarantees you'll say it right either, is to think of combining the name 'Tim' with 'Micah'. Tim-micah. Timika. Got it? Ciao.

As I write this a part of me is dying. Just 3 hours ago I was outside taking a walk with one of my dogs, Twigi. We sat down under some trees and chilled for a while. As we started to walk back to the house she started vomiting. Not really a big deal, it happens. What's not supposed to happen is your dog collapsing. Just like that, she just kind of sat down and slumped over. I knelt down beside her and she let out a quiet groan. I stroked her a few times, tried to prop her up on her feet, and she just fell down. I scooped her up and rushed her into the house and called the vet...of course they JUST closed. I got the information for the nearest 24hr emergency animal hospital...20 minutes away. I drove like a bat out of hell. On the ride over she seems to be improving, her pupils less dilated, she even licked her teeny tiny teeth. I explained everything to the doctor. Her temperature was normal, he didn't feel anything abnormal, and her colour was good. I had hope. An hour after we returned home he called us. X-rays didn't show anything, but her pulse is dwindling, we can't do exploratory surgery. She's most likely going to die. WTF!!! One minute I'm enjoying a stroll with my pooch and now she's dying on some fucking cold table on Grand Island! As the tears burn my eyes I'm washed over with guilt...what if it's something she ate and it poisoned her and she's suffering because I made the choice to take her outside with me? UGH! Then to tell yourself, no, it's the way it is because it was meant to be. Meant to be. My cute little 5 year old miniature Yorkie, bouncing around at my feet and 30 seconds later slumped over in the grass. I'm a mess. My mom is on her way over to sign papers to put her down. My stomach is sick. I don't know that I believe in euthanasia. I don't want her to suffer by any means, but ending her life without at least trying for other options? Are our pets so expendable!?? Then I actually have to compose myself tomorrow morning and go to pick up her body!!!??? Life is so, so delicate. The balance literally decided in seconds. Oh Twigers, Twigerdito, Ye Mighty Twigster, Twigerdoodledoo...I love you so much my furry little munchkin.

I was depositing my check using the drive-up window at my bank. I had one of my dogs with me. Suddenly she began yodeling. Yes, yodeling, it's the only way I can describe the noise escaping her snout. It wasn't a bark, it wasn't a howl, and it wasn't a whimper....just a strange yodeling. The woman pops the drawer back at me, on top of my receipt is a milk bone! Bambi lunged out that window and snatched it up in less than a heartbeat. How cool is that, a milk bone for your pooch at the drive-up window. I love my dogs. Ciao.

bambi

I found this sweet retro Schwinn in the basement of my brother's new house, hosed her down, replaced the seat, pumped up the tires and took her out for an inaugural spin with a pal. We arrived at our destination just fine, but on the way home she got a flat. Apparently we had encountered glass along our route and it put a slow leak in her tire, and a halt to our ride. Walking a bike is always a bugger. We finally made back to base, and wouldn't you know it, my tire goes flat! But I go one step further...the glass had managed to wedge itself just right, so it ripped my tire a new one! Poor thing looked like a shredded chicken taco. Luckily there's a bright side. I've always been a mountain bike kind of girl and those smooth spindly tires were cramping my style. I'm going to see if I can pimp this green machine Lara Croft style and outfit it with more aggressive tires. Now we're talking business.

Speaking of bikes...Holy I almost creamed a kid on his bike last night Batman! I had to run to the market and took a spontaneous cruise on my way home. Sunroof open, windows down, stereo soothing my soul, the wind flirting with my hair – oooh it feels soooo good. I round the curve of the highway and there he is, the Kool-Aid kamikaze, heading right for me! He's in my lane, one hand on his bars the other clasping a large cup of sugary, grape flavored water...he doesn't even see me coming! Slow motion kicks in. My brain creates a horrific image: A joust. 10 pounds of aluminum at a velocity of 8mph VS 3,000 pounds of iron at a velocity of 60mph. Result: Kool-Aid and brain matter washing over my windshield and down through my sunroof and a new aluminum hood ornament. Barf! The kamikaze's wingman suddenly realizes the predicament and bellows a warning. I could actually taste grape on my lips as that cup passed inches from my driver side door.

I don't shake easily, but that was a bit too close for comfort. I head to a wicked cool graveyard and cop a squat under a particularly gnarly tree. The sweet scent of night blooming Jasmine fills my nostrils, helps to calm my nerves. The evening sky compares to an African sunset with its streaks of magenta emanating from a resplendent sphere of orange crush. The last of the rays are burning into the crumbling cross at my feet. Damn I wish I had my camera (and a beer), these shots are amazing! The sun dips below the horizon, nature's cue for me to head home. Graveyards are so soothing by daylight, and exaggeratedly creepy by moonlight, but I'd rather have a partner to share the shivers with. Ciao.

P.S. Yes, we read you (e:Thesimeon)! I gave you props for your cleverness!

I love trivia. This is way simple, but I wouldn't want to slam you with something too complex just yet. $5 to the first (e:peep) that can comment correctly! FYI - my motto is 'say what you mean and mean what you say'; I will chalk up the $5. Here it goes: 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55.......

Tell me what it is. Ciao.