also

the white man with wheat colored eyes and the dreadlocks at my 7-11 feels it is his duty to father me every time I go in there and buy something.

example: What do you have on your head?

-a tiger hat. it was a gift.

-huh.

-it keeps my hair out of my face.

-some of it.

example 2: You don't need that Monster.

-I need energy today.

-eat a banana.

also

Jeopardy. Suck it, Dorland. (Play on SNL... get it?)

I grow tired of that picture that makes me look like an oompa-loompa. Will perhaps change it to that one of me in the fetching fire engine bouffant.

Also, more importantly, Suprise has now been posted online in all of his nipular glory. I advise having a peek.

Yesterday was fun. And now that I have sat down to type about it I have no memory of what the hell happened before noon.

I'm eating nuts. Turning into my grandfather. And Hannah. So, my Handfather. Or Grandannah.

Nuts, it turns out, have fat that is good for me. I have argued Adam into the ground about this. Or was it Adam? Hard to recall, I argue with lots of people about lots of things.

Anyway, nuts have pleasant mannerly fat. So I am eating a hippo full. Actually. Use your imaginations.

Animal Farm we read yet AGAIN yesterday. For another huge tribe of middle schoolers wearing lots of eyeliner and baggy khakis. They were all surprisingly well behaved though.

Animal Farm consisted of us all processing with great pomp out to our hard wooden stools (except for two members of the cast who had cushy tall stools with backs), me tripping violently over all the connecting wires Tom had rigged up for our reading lights, and recovering just in time to make my goat noise.

I have gleaned from Animal Farm that John Moon has a very impressive profile and fascinating neck veins, that Paul is an amazing donkey, and that I can sit in all sorts of extreme yoga positions on top of a bar stool without toppling over.

Also that Boxer was the admiration of everybody.

Finished my nuts. Big Gulp?

Anyway, read that.

Had my daily examination of Tom's facebook page.

Drove somewhere. Where did I go.

Probably went to the Barksdale to put the laundry in. Oh yes- and then picked up Anna from the airport and ate Mexican food and a giant slurpee while secretly trying to figure out how to steal Anna's amulet.

We return to the Empire. I lay in the floor and watch Wendy steam fabric plates. I am a little dizzy at this point.

Anyway, hoo de hoo de hoo, we all go home. We discover we all need showers. I claim that I must have one as I have not had one for a shameful amount of time. This is quickly agreed to by the other members of the household, which makes me suspect that perhaps I stink.

So I take a shower. I do not condition my hair for the first time in months. Ever since Joseph harangued me into doing it all the time. He was right. But I ran out of my kangaroo conditioner, and last time I washed my hair I tried Margaret's new leave in conditioner spray, but that only resulted in my looking like a overgrown armpit, so yesterday I just shampooed.

No good. Now look like a furry hassock.

Oh well. At least it is clean. Always feel like I've lost fifteen pounds when I wash my hair, due to oil x I suppose.

Also, in breaking awful news, my Ned is ill. Ill with hypertubbia. Robyn and I are going to try to take him on walks.

Decided to go with Adam and Anna to Margaret's show. Not to watch, as I watched it several times before last weekend, and then watched it from onstage four times last weekend, but just to be around people and have good company. Also to bother Chase. Always a good time.

Somewhere in here I drank a chocolate apple cherry martini. Or was that the day before? Was the day before.

But Adam can make a banging CACM. In mine he just pours in half a bottle of maraschino cherries and I am good to go.

Still makes me make a pinched face but I can swallow it.

So I go downtown to retrieve my air mattress from Durron at the Empire. I smile and am rewarded with cherries. EVERYONE IN RICHMOND IS PARKED AT THE EMPIRE. Never seen so many cars illegally parked in my life.

Then drive in a very roundabout winding route to the Barksdale to distribute the laundry. I have a premonition as I climb the back stairs that after all of that driving, I bet someone has already gone and gotten the clothes out of the dryer, as it was nearly 7pm, and many of the castmates are set upon by the vapors if their socks are not at their seat shortly before lunch.

And I am right. That Tom Joad.

But I use my free time while I wait for the Droops to gain instruction in applying makeup to cover tattoos. Learned that. On the resume.

Then the Droops arrive and we all drive to the Tavern. Adam has brought his iPod in the car, so he takes turns picking out a song for Maggie, Anna, and me, in a cycle. My dedications included such Honaker favorites as "Hollaback Girl," and "Don't Make Me Hit You With My Pocketbook."

Then he puts on something featuring violins and haystacks and whining and I crab until it is changed back to Dr. Dre.

We arrive.

The very very necessary couple that ushers there every night, Danny and Beverly, announce they have a gift for me. I get very excited, as once Danny gave me a bag full of strawberries. Which I promptly forgot about and left in my car for a month, but that is beside the point.

So at intermission, Danny opens the door of the booth and tosses in a small plastic bag knotted at the top. I think, "surely you do not toss fresh berries, " and open it. I am deeeelighted. When I was in the show last weekend, I noticed one night Danny was wearing a NEON ELECTRIC BRIGHT FLUORESCENT yellow t-shirt. I announced that I loved it and would wear it every day if I had one like it.

And now I do. :) Made my week.

I think it is a shirt that you wear when you go hunting so you are not mistaken for a bison.

Adam says it is my hi-liter costume.

Put it straight on. Then Chase pointed out that I couldn't wear it in the booth as I would glow like the Star of Bethlehem and pose a potential distraction during scenes of great withering emotional x, so I put on his big black vest over top of it and settled in for Act II.

Please hold. Have to go get Anna and Adam off the porch for Jeopardy.

They said, "thank you, 3."

I love how actors describe objects in their lives in terms of upstage/downstage. Like, "You have a smear of ice cream on your chest. No, no- downstage left. More downstage. Ok,you got it."

So then we all ride back to Richmond, I am dropped off at the Dale to begin the laundry and then to meet everyone at Joe's. Chase and I have decided during Act I that we will both get The Big Breakfast and I will give him one pancake for one slice of his French Toast.

I go upstairs and ask whoever is in the dressing room how much acting is left to go. The boys tell me fifteen minutes.

I start to show my dad's awesome card trick to the very nice boy in the cast who has a pretty smile as well as that fascinating skin condition where you are pretty much made of elastic. SO cool. He can affix any number of clothespins to his face and neck and anywhere on him and it doesn't hurt at all. Might try to develop this friendship so I can pull on him.

But anyway, he seems markedly calm about my card trick and then I find out that he knows A LOT about card tricks. We remove ourselves to the back hallway and he teaches me all kinds of cool stuff for the rest of Act II. Like one tidbit in particular that I will not disclose, but will begin trying to find the right situation to employ immediately.

I put in the laundry.

I go to Joe's. We laugh hard and a lot. Which is wonderful.

Go home, read a novel. To bed.

Slept stiff.

Well, I'll say, as a fan of pretty gowns, that this years Oscar crop looks like a collection of bunchy garbage bags.

Hasn't anyone heard of a hoop skirt?

Today was BEAUTIFUL.

I habitually got out of bed, knifed the mascara off my eyes, bundled all up in my cozies and tramped outside to go do the Grapes laundry. (Which, by the way, I woke up at 7:30 and then slept in til 9:30 and then freaked out realizing that the laundry would not be done by noon! Then caught myself- they do not need their laundry by noon. X giving into to the impracticality.)

So, to resume, I had tramped about halfway down the block and then was struck still by the realization that teh day was beautiful. The sun I could feel on my face, the sky was blue, it was almost warm, and there was a darling breeze.

I smiled cheekily and continued my jaunt to my car. I arrive at the end of my jaunt and realized I must jaunt on, as my car was nowhere to be seen. I find it eventually, and am glad of the walk in the weather.

So I go. I put in the laundry. I go over to CVS to get vitamin water because my eyelashes are disintegrating and my liver has shrunken to the size of a cat nipple due to dehydration. And because Maggie told me that last week when she was dehydrated she felt like a new woman after drinking Vitamin water and Pedialyte.

I get two.

Red ones.

I go back over to the theater and get my book about Elizabeth Taylor going on a diet and Russell's tweed dinner jacket that has been hanging backstage since the heyday of the Confederacy and go back outdoors to sit on the bench and feel the sunshine.

I fall asleep.

I am awakened once by three small girls marching by with their Daddy chanting "BOOGER KING! BOOGER KING! BOOGER KING!"

Their father was not responding.

I am awakened twice by my jam session/trash dumping buddy Tim, who is rumbling by with the grocery cart and is concerned that I have locked myself out of the building. I suppose he thinks this because I am prone drooling on a bench bundled in tweed.

I am awakened once again by Tom Joad ringing me from thirty paces down the sidewalk to let him into the building.

(It is 11:30 at this time. Showtime: 2pm)

I let him in. He forges very quickly ahead, but manners have apparently been instilled and he waits to hold the door. In my opinion, if he wouldn't rush off ahead so much, he would have to spend less time holding the door. But that's my opinion.

I inform him that I will be joining him today for Sealquacking in the conference room as I feel like I have been run over by a cement truck.

We do that. I am then dismissed and I don't know what all went on in the conference room for the next thirty minutes.

I distribute the laundry.

I go home to meet Margaret for the matinee.

I eat a banana.

We go to the Tavern.

We put on obscene amounts of makeup, curl my hair, which by this point in the weekend has the consistency of driftwood, and shiggle into our skirts.

We go downstairs, and do the play, which involves cutting napkins, giggling and giving lots of meaningful looks to Maggie.

Also lots of crying. Which worked out particularly well this time, due in part to my being blocked to stand directly beneath the air duct.

I see my wonderful mother. I love her so much.

My mother and I drive to Qdoba at Vcoo.

We eat, we talk, I open up the women's bathroom to the sight of a substantial woman pooping.

We go to Lowes to drop me off for the carpool.

We watch the audience exit the Firehouse following the matinee of Crumble, Lay on Top of me Justin Timberlake, or whatever it is.

We watch Jackie Jones in her apricot colored top- you all know the one- mince daintily across the street with what appears to be a platter of her oat-fudgies.

Joe Carlson pulls up in his car directly beside us. I divine from this that the Grapes matinee is over. I say, "Joe, this is my mom. We sit in Lowes parking lots."

He nods and tells me he is going across to the Camel for dinner.

He leaves.

My mother points out that I did not ever actually explain what we were doing there. I like this.

Bet he thinks I'm REAL weird now.

I call Katrinah when she is five minutes late. She answers. I have woken her from her nap.

She peels into the parking lot five minutes later. And proceeds to peel right past me. I assume she is doing another lap and then will pick me up. She reaches the corner and takes an abrupt left back onto Lombardy, and then away.

I am glad my mother has not pulled off yet. I flag her down and she drives me down to play practice.

At play practice, I fended off my coma, drank Sunkist, and did HEAVY PARTNERING with Brandon Beckman. Which I so adore.

Then Katrinah drove me home. We are smushed against the center guardrail by a semi that was going to get over like it or not.

We drive down the shoulder for a while.

And now we are are watching the Oscars and Adam is torturing us by chopping onions in the next room. But I will forgive, as he is chopping them to make fancy little pizzas and salad.

Maggie just said to the cat- "you have got to grow your fur back. Cause I am sick of looking at your nipples."

Shoes.

Well, the Olympics are over. They were not as exciting for me as I had hoped they would be this year. Eh- not true completely. The women's downhill with all the wipeouts and devastation and thrilling recklessness was Amazing. But the night of the women's free program in figure skating somehow became overshadowed due to what turns out to be a lethal combination of bananas, sheep, dice and muscles.

Anyway. Now all we really need the converter box for is so I can beat Adam at Jeopardy every night. But I am in hopes that some necessary new series will come on regular tv so we can all watch. I always forget though, that I do have access to House and 24. Both of which I love.

Lola is anxious for Adam to come home. She is snooty to me and Maggie.

Maggie got her hair cut today and now looks French and expensive. Especially because she wears gray leggings so well.

Oh Adam just got home. Whoop-de-doo.

Also he apparently brought both Margaret and I prizes. Oh goodygoodygoody.

I retract prior sarcasm.

In about ten minutes Joy is picking me up to drive me down to the Mill to make sure I can still read.

Have to go. Maggie is putting on her wedding shoes.

Sham.

Yesterday was a fun day.
Due to massive pothole devastation throughout Richmond, Brett's car has decided to be a whiny little girl and x at every possible opportunity.
So it was in the shop/so he needed a ride to work. Done.
So I spring out of the bed bright and early and putter over there to visit with my dear Suprise before we go.
I visit. I coo, I nuzzle, I discover that he for some reason looks like he's recently gone swimming in an oil spill and that he needs a bath. I decide to set aside 48 hours sometime next week to thoroughly bathe and blow dry him so he doesn't take a chill.
I fall asleep.
I offer for Brett to take my car and drive himself to work as I can cuddle with Suprise some more and I have nothing to do except the laundry at the Barksdale and it would do me heaps of good to walk there.
He does.
So Suprise and I stare into each others eyes and give kisses for another hour or so. Wilson snuggles up close to us (within 1 ft.) and turns his back snootily, like he does. So I am happy as a duck with two gorgeous cats and a blanket.
I decide to check my phone. I have of course three text messages all inviting me to do fun things in the next two hours. My phone immediately dies.
Oh well.
One of the fun things was Jennings inviting me to help with a mailing for Fairy Tale Ball. I love sticking labels on things and writing fancy addresses on envelopes so I am all about this. She tells me Hannah has offered to pick me up from my apartment.
So I trudge briskly out in the slush and walk through the back alleys (this thrills me because I know the whole time--YOUR PARENTS WOULD NOT LIKE THAT YOU ARE DOING THIS! DANGEROUS DANGEROUS!) and behind the huge house that at Christmas was decorated over every millimeter and had a festive sign on the front in somber black lettering saying "In Memory of Our Deceased Son." Who I can only assume, really enjoyed Christmas.
I stroll down Boulevard. Two blocks down I realize that I am STARVING. Starving. To a crippling degree.
Now- it should be noted that when I say I am "starving" what is probably actually the case is that I haven't eaten in about three hours and am getting slightly grumpy.
But nevertheless. With my usual flair for the dramatic and intense suffering situations, I pretend I am really in a pickle and have to walk all this way and may or may not pass out due to hunger.
I also admire the curly shadow my hair makes on the sidewalk. Really quite lovely.
Also- I do not have my keys. So I cannot get in my house (though I am considering the window- I would really fancy myself cool if I did that) to charge my phone.
So I round the corner onto Monument. I squint down the street. I see Hannah's car! Which you know is Hannah's car because it is the only one like it in America. For real.
I scooch up her steps and knock on her door. Love having friends all living within blocks of each other.
Her dog puts up a mightly fuss and then she lets me in. I collapse on the couch and explain while I am there. She offers me some water. I offer myself some food.
She displays the options of yogurt, fruit, cereal, hummus, coffee....
I settle on a Pepsi. And a banana- AND a banana.
Bananas are always amazing tasting when you have one for the first time in several years.
Because Hannah can always solve any problem she charges my phone with John's phone charger and then we shuttle off to the Barksdale to put in the laundry. The irrelevant laundry that is actually made diritier by washing it. Oh well.
Hannah then announces that we are going to wash her car. I get excited because I like going through those car wash tunnels. But she has in mind the do-it-yourself car wash next to Wendy's.
I am at first substantially less excited because I do not like to do things like vacuuming myself.
But then she puts in all the quarters and I start helping and then she gives me the power washer stick and turns it on and I start chortling like a toddler with cake.
It is very cool. And cheap. And has options for wash, wax, rinse, scrub, and a special option for tire washing.
Fun. Ruined my dinosaur mittens. Worth it.
Hannah eyes all the fun I am having suspiciously.
We then go down to the Empire to stuff envelopes.
Jeff lets us in. Good ol' Jeff. Like him an awful lot.
Jennings, in her usual amazing party presenter fashion, has set out pretzel sticks and lollipops and allows us to have Diet Cokes. The very Diet Cokes I have been crabbing about not being able to have for months.
We stuff. I take two trips over to the theater to pick up envelopes and nose around at Lepettiponce.
The company that has provided the magnets we are mailing has included as a free sample two festive in your face magnets for the Football Squad the Saints. No idea where they are from. New Orleans? Beside the point. All I know is that Ford LOVES the Colts. And thereby probably does not much care for the Saints. So I march right into his office and affix both magnets prominently to his filing cabinet. This gives me a great sense of peace.
We finish envelopes. Hannah and Jennings decide to go running later on today. I try to talk them out of it. I do not succeed. Good for them.
We go to the bank. The branch John works at downtown.
It should be noted that I am SO IMPRESSED with myself for knowing someone like John who works so successfully at a bank. And then comes over and watches action movies.
This bank should never be attended to deposit your check. We wait in line for absolute MINUTES. Upwards of twenty-five I am sure. I do alot of shifting my weight from foot to foot and whining. Hannah tells me a story about the little girl she nannies for peeing on herself and Hannah making her clean it up herself. Hannah, is AWESOME.
But it is mostly worth it when we get to the front of the line and I discover a necessary little metal door under the teller window that you can open and close. And so I put one of Hannah's crumpled up receipts inside. Would have been cool if I had opened the door again and it had been gone.
We go home. I am picked up by Brett as I am crossing the Monument median and we go to his house and drop him off. We youtube my new boyfriend Shaun White doing his little snowboarding.
I go to pick up Dorland.
He has a brownie. A. One.
He eats it.
We go put the laundry in the dryer and then go home.
I shower and peform most of "Oklahoma."
Maggie eats noodles and blows her nose.
Wendy pops by to drop off the fruits of the crime she and Adam and I committed the day before.
That's all I'm going to say about that. Actual crime.
I hop in her van and she takes me to the B'dale, where she is bartending.
I invite myself to lay in the floor with Joe Carlson and learn about the process of flailing and wheezing and pretnding to be a seal called "Oxyrhythmics."
He graciously allows me to join and manages to continue his warm-up all the while feeding me a constant stream of instruction and ignoring my giggles when it is fun to do something like put your legs straight up in the air and then touch them to the floor over your head. I realize as I am going that this is probably not meant to be "fun."
Have now learned how to do that.
Is good for relaxing and stretching.
I watch Michael Hawke eat a salad.
I find out more than I want to about the Grapes boys and their long underwear.
I "fix" a costume note in under two seconds using the scissors.
We all listen to the Debra singing in the lobby.
Adam comes to pick me up.
We go to Short Pump.
We go to Pottery Barn. We make thirty laps of the store looking for a green duvet cover.
I wonder if Adam is going to ask the salesgirl where it might be as we have driven all the way to Short Pump.
Adam and I do not like to ask sales people anything. Or to order pizza over the phone. We make Maggie do it. Or whoever else happens to be in the house.
I CAN do it. I am working on it.
He of course finds it before asking, which robs me of any satisfaction of him having to ask.
We go to urban outfitters where we find lots of things we NEED. Like telephones shaped like hamburgers and unicorn keys.
I decide I might faint if I don't have beef.
So we go to Wendy's. We eat in silence, as you can do with good friends. I think about how nice it is to have so many good friends that I can ignore completely most of the time.
Two small girls are dining in Wendy's with their mothers. They are sent to the bathroom to wash their hands. They emerge from the bathroom and loudly announce that there is a gun in there.
Adam and I are riveted and blatantly staring.
The mother investigates. No gun. Shucks.
I teach Adam the back way to the Short Pump target.
In Target we (well I-- Adam purchased only boring things like tupperware for sweaters and pillowcases) I found very necessary items.
-Shoes I can wear to sing tonight and that Maggie likes as well so we can share as they are heels and she will wear them more.
-Swim goggles for snowboarding excursion tomorrow night. So I don't have to spend the whole time crying blood and fire.
-An enormous new bath towel featuring Sleeping Beauty.
We go get Frosties.
We go home.

Best reason ever.

Well, I cannot be a grandmother.

And I have been reeling from this knowledge all the way since Tuesday, folks.

Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, yesterday Adam and I went to Barnes & Noble after we finished vacuuming, dusting, washing and shaving the Grapes of Wrath set. We like it there. We would live there. Take out a small cot under the Babysitters' Club section.

I've forgotten what I was saying.

Oh yes.

I sharply spy the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition on the rack by the register.

We unanimously decide to get this.

He pays, as he is a boy. I purchase a small bright bookmark featuring the picture of a kitten in a sweater looking put out.

We go home, silently doff our coats, turn on the light and take up positions on the couch for the viewing.

Now, let it be said that Adam and I enjoy this magazine for different reasons.

Ever since I can remember, in the magazine rack next to my grandfather's ancient recliner was one Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. I have no idea what year it was from, but it remained in that rack for the better part of my childhood and teen years.

And every holiday and occasion my brother, my cousin Megan and I would look at this book.

I found it almost unbelievable how they could paint those bathing suits on those girls and make it look SO real. We would peer and peer to see if we could see any trace of nipple or any other body part that would make us think, "well, really then, I suppose this is not quite so impressive as it seems after all." But no. So I've always liked seeing that spread to see how well done it is.

Adam reads this magazine for God knows why. I guess watching girls suffering in harsh weather conditions wearing only their bones and the occasional brightly patterned tea bag.

Whatever.

But just for everyone's information, the painted bathing suit spread in this year's issue is lacking in real-ness. In my opinion. And in Adam's. And he knows. He is a painter.

There are some erroneously placed shadows, and someone got over-ambitious and decided they could make two-dimensional ruffly lace look like the real thing.

Try again.

So anyway, that was pretty much a bust. Ahaha.

The most amusing part of the whole exercise was when it occurred to me what a sight it would be for Maggie to behold when she walked in the door from work to discover Adam and I seated on the couch poring and squinting over the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue together.

She didn't.

Also.

When I adopted and raised and those three fuzzy Happy Meal sized kittens, I knew that one day, they would need to be spayed/neutered.

I knew this most certainly about Betty, for if she were ever to reproduce the world would undoubtedly be overtaken by her bat-gargoyle soulless spawn and every human would be furious for the rest of their lives.

Ouisus I knew would grow to be a refrigerator and a hunk o' burning pussy, as it were, and be extremely sought after by all the cats within the tri-state area. And I didn't want him breaking any hearts.

Suprise I would love to have reproduce, as he is wonderful and I love him in every way, but unfortunately, his general unawareness of everything around him down to and including his own body and whether or not he can walk across the ceiling on his tongue would most probably render him useless in figuring out the mechanics of where to stick it.

Having said all that, and in light of the fact that once Betty went into heat she began aggressively sexually accosting any male that came to our house in a most embarrassing way (sorry Matt Shofner) and Suprise, in a good humor, commenced merrily spraying on everything Brett owns just to spread the good cheer, I made appointments for the children to have their parts sawed off.

So I take them in for a pre-surgery check up/rabies shot.

I discover a deaf cat in the lobby of the vet clinic. This is fun because you stand by it's cage until it turns around and then it is startled and jumps and goes "YEOOOOW."

They examine Betty. They coo and ooh and ahh and call her things like "sweet angel" and "petite little lady."

I bite my tongue and roll my eyes. I wish that Adam were there so we could pompously scoff at this gross misperception together. (Maggie loves Betty. She is not all alone in the world.)

They examine Suprise. Who, by the way, is the most relaxed cat I have every come across. He has sat in my lap the entire car ride and gazed contemplatively out the window, occassionally bathing a paw. He has spent Betty's examination reclining in the corner chair, leafing through the February issue of Cat Fancy.

While examining Suprise they discover (besides that he is amazing), that my baby only has one descended testicle. I figure this is not uncommon. But the vet then proceeds to press on his lower body searching for said testicle. She presses higher and higher, until finally, somewhere around his larynx, she says, "Ah. There it is."

I find this peculiar.

But he is Suprise. He does lots of Suprising things. Which now include storing one of his balls on his clavicle.

All this means, she tells me, is that instead of them just popping open his scrotum and spooning out his testicles there, they will have to do a deeply invasive procedure to fish out the rogue ball.

I immediately almost burst into tears.

But I take comfort in the fact that, no matter what they do to him, anesthesia or not, he will not notice. He's just that laid back.

All goes according to plan. Betty sails through surgery- a "routine spay" they tell me (much to mine and Adam's secret disappointment), and Suprise does as well, with the exception of them having to do a bit more shoveling around through his abdomen than they had previously anticipated.

Again- tears.

We go to pick them up. They tell me, "That will be $256.00. For Suprise." I smile and say, "No it will not."

So I pay something I find feasible, though I am forced to go a little overboard due to the wandering nut. Apparently, when they have to go on expansive testicles searches, they really are putting themselves out so they can charge you more money.

We return Suprise home. His roommate Wilson has forgotten about him completely in the five hours he has been out of the house and hisses and moans to beat the band. I give him a withering look and a sharp smack on the rump. Suprise immediately lurches himself up onto the round footstool and sits up straight as an arrow. He is squinting violently and swaying from side to side.

I call Brett four hours later to check in on him.

He is still on the footstool.

But the next morning, he was all duckies and cupcakes. That's my boy.

So I am pleased.

Also it is really something to relish when you can cancel certain things you were planning on paying for by saying, "I'm sorry, I can't come to that now. My cat had one undescended testicle."

I was in China three times today. Now I have to go save all the depressed people from their blue rashes.

Someone gave me a rose today. I don't know who it was.

Nor, Hannah, do I care.