Connection/Dis/Connection

3:20 a.m. Saturday morning -- our brand spankin new bedroom smoke detector goes off. I look up to the 11 foot ceiling and think "How the hell are we going to get up there? We don't have a ladder that tall!"

Luckily, the alarm stopped and we sat up in bed trying desperately to read the smallest print known to humankind on the alarm instructions. "3 Beeps - Pause - followed by 3 Beeps" means the thing is in TEST MODE. What a time to test yourself!

So we heard -- from our designer and my mother -- that sometimes spiders can walk across and set it off. Tonight we reached our feather duster up there to sweep away any spiders. I'm still worried that it will test itself again early in the morning.

But there's no time for sleeping as our new neighbors are having a party in their backyard, which is adjacent to ours. They are renting the house. Melvin, who usually lives there NEVER has parties. In fact, the onlly thing we hear from him is a bit of Aretha in the morning while he's shaving (we can hear is electric razor, too). Melvin's off in some foreign country and he's rented his house to the rowdiest, loudest woman I've met in a long time. She usally sits out on her back porch and talks on her cell phone incessantly in a voice that reminds me of Lucille Ball on speed. It's awful. It goes on and on all night long. Just as I'm certain this party will.

Unless they head to the Cowgirl Bar downtown. They seem like the Cowgirl Bar type. How's that for stereotyping! HA!

I am exhausted. I should be sleeping. I haven't had much sleep in quite a few days what with alarms and cowgirl parties and the thugs at the end of the block who stand in the middle of the street and challenge each other with chests and shouts.

And work has been none-too-easy either. Thursday I felt like Lucy from Charlie Brown -- I could have hung a shingle on a stand that said "Psychiatrist is In" and made a killing with 5 cent sessions. 4 girls got in trouble for writing a letter to another girl they thought was a bully only their letter was more bullish than the girl they were accusing. When we "punished" them, they all started sobbing uncontrollably (well, except one girl who truly is the BULLY) and I kept thinking, "Is this how the Salem Witch Trials got started?" Then the accused bully found out about it all and fell apart, as did her psychotic friend who wants ONLY to be friends with the accused bully and no one else (and she expects her friend to be exclusive to their friendship as well). Then I found out that the accused bully has confessed her thoughts of suicide to psycho girl so I had to spend an hour with accused bully and then another half hour with her mother and in that conversation, I learn that psycho girl is cutting on herself so I have to go back in "session" with her to find out if that's the case and spend another half hour on the phone talking to her mother.

Is it July yet?

My only solace this week (though it still required amazing energy) was our field trip to the Horse Whisperer (in Enumclaw) who uses her horses to teach the girls how to be effective leaders. That was fucking amazing. The girls loved it, the parents loved it, we loved it, and as far as I could tell, the horses loved it. Too much to explain, but it was exactly what we needed after our psycho-ward drama on Thursday.

Still, sleep would have been nice.

We came up to bed hoping that the party would end soon, but no such luck. More guests seem to be arriving as I type and I wouldn't be typing at all if I hadn't booted up my computer to download some pictures only to find that the internet connection I thought I no longer had access to I have access to...but only upstairs.

So, I checked email to find a message from Ann's sister about their psycho mother who has, according to sister, spent almost 10 grand on the Mexican convict. Sister asked Ann to call the mother, but Ann can't find her phone number admist our half-unpacked boxes and so she's decided that reading the DaVinci Code was far better use of her time than rescuing mom, yet again, from some manic relationship.

It has been a week of connection and disconnection in so many ways. Perhaps the biggest lesson I learned with the Horse Whisperer (and there were many) was that if you don't show your authentic emotions to a horse, they'll not give you the time of day. Not sure how to carry that into the rest of my life, but it seemed pretty amazing at the time...and very true as the girls who struggle with being themselves couldn't lead a single horse (to water) until the Horse Whisperer helped her "get real" as she demanded of the students. It was fucking amazing.

The party has reached a frenzy next door. It would all be okay except for this very drunk woman who screams a lot...like Lucille Ball on speed -- it's the kind of heterosexual ditziness I hate in some women.

Do men really think that's attractive?

Get real, I want to yell out the window!

Ann's idea is to hose them all down with water from our lofty perch of our new bedroom. "They'll think it's raining," she says. Yes, they are probably drunk enough to think it's raining, but I doubt they'll quiet down or go inside.

I could really use some sleep.