Took shortcut to work, walking across uptight Ivy League Campus, watching Ivy League Squirrels dodging Ivy League Pedestrians, faces tucked in Ivy League Scarves. Am certain that caught one such Ivy League Squirrel pausing in his Ivy League Acorn hunting to stare at yours truly to say, “You don’t belong.” Indeed. Do not. But am certain to outlive cruelly frigid winter, you mangy little rodent. Let’s just hope you’re so lucky.

Post-party fog has been lifting ever-so-slowly, and am having flashbacks of v. humorous Saturday evening. (Bathroom mirror still bears evidence of guests armed with toothpaste and messages of phallic nature – feel quite reluctant to clean it off.) As was stepping on scale this morning, had sudden memory of climbing on same scale with Cute Fireman, watching red number flicker, hoping that Fireman either did not know his own weight, or if did, was too drunk to do necessary math. God damn ten pounds. Also remember something about edible body oil, and conducting taste test of said oil in kitchen with guests. Oh dear God, am frightfully silly when drunk.

Have also been told that was cloistered in bedroom with Cute Fireman for significant amount of time. Am fairly certain nothing adventurous happened, but fact that can’t remember closing door leads self to question usually-reliable memory. Suppose could do worse than being sequestered in ultra-tipsy state with Cute Fireman. Cute is good. Think was Tom Robbins who wrote, Lucifer was the cutest angel in heaven. If Mr. Robbins is indeed correct, well, then, devil me, baby.

Ended up hosting last minute get-together on Saturday night, so spent several hours of weekend engaged in pre-party cleaning. Have sore legs, back, arms and bleach burnt hands, but by God, threw one clean party. Eat off those floors, kids. No. For real. Just bleached them today.

Un-Party was attended by handful of regulars as well as not-so-regularly-attending Cute Fireman. Played happy hostess, tottering around, tipsy on cheap wine, keeping partygoers’ hands filled with Cider Jack, Jose Cuervo and Captain Morgan. Tipsy turned to blissfully drunk and let Cute Fireman steal a kiss.

CF: You’re cute. (kiss)
H: Thank you!
CF: That’s it?
H: (laughing) Yep.
CF: I take it back. Very cute.

After three am exodus, only CF and brother remained. A few hours later, as sun was coming up, tucked them into beds in separate rooms.

CF: Hey… could we get a lullaby?
H: You want me to sing to you??
Brother: Yes, please.

Had not been asked by drunken party guests to sing in v. long time and was not even aware that CF knew of this habit. But was happy to oblige. Sat between rooms and did as requested. Was not altogether shocked when at end of song, both were fast asleep. Damn. Am one good lullaby-er.

E: Uh oh.
H: What?
E: You sang to them? Don’t you know that you are a siren and your song makes men want to marry you?
H: Ha!

B: How did it go?
H: Good. The fireman stayed over.
B: How was he?
H: Well-behaved. I didn’t sleep with him, silly.
B: You managed to find another guy that doesn’t like sex. Weird.
H: It must be me. I turn men celibate.
B: Get thee to a nunnery…
H: Ha! Brilliant!

Dear J,

I went to see him last night. He’s even better in person. Looks like Lenny Kravitz in Converse sneakers. Sounds the way warm honey tastes. Remember the first time I heard him? You made me listen to that CD in your car on the way to… well, now even I forget where. It made me miss you. It made me miss driving around, singing along to Dashboard Confessional, you taking the harmonies. Anyway, he played at the rock club where I first heard you play. And I saw your friend, D. She was playing, too. It made me want to call you to say, “Guess who I just ran into?” And that made me miss you a little bit, too.
I’ll admit, it’s been easier than I thought it would be — to disconnect myself from you. But not last night. Last night it was lonely, sitting next to two girls who shared stories and inside jokes composed of nothing more than, “like that one time in Memphis…” We had those sorts of stories too, you and I; sentences we never even bothered to complete, jokes that meant nothing to anyone but us. I miss that. I’m sure I’ll find that again with someone else; I always do. But until then, I’ll miss that.

I miss you. But stay away.

Love,

H

Had horrifying dream last night that stood in front of the mirror, took scissors in hand and chopped long, straight hair into Katherine Zeta (a la Chicago) bob.
Snip!
Oh dear God!
Now, did not think it becoming on the nearly-always-lovely Ms. Jones and certainly did not become yours truly. Stared at self in mirror wondering just why exactly suddenly had too-short bangs. Bewilderment became panic as began franticly running fingers through short strands telling self over and over that was “just hair” and would grow back. In what, five years?
But most chilling fear of all was that J would see what this impulsive, scissor happy girl had done. Idea that J does not like short hair made Dreaming Self frantic. But Awake Self stood in front of real mirror minutes later, pulling unaltered middle-of-the-back long hair into ponytail thinking, “J does not care about your hair, silly girl. And you do not care what he thinks of it, either.”
Indeed.
Reluctant Kitten has lost most of her reluctance (due undoubtedly to marvelous kitten-mothering skills) and thus has taken to following v. closely at all times. Leaning over sink wrestling with too-goopy mascara and felt tugging at scalp. Looked down to find kitten sitting in sink amusing herself by batting at curtain of hair.

H: I can see you’re glad I didn’t cut it. Now, scoot.
RK: …
H: Get out of the sink, silly. Unless you want to get ready for work. You could go, you know. You’ll work, and I’ll stay here and sleep in the sunny spot all day. What do you think?
RK: …
Concerned Roommate: Who are you talking to?
H: RK. We’re having a chat. I’m trying to talk her into going to work for me.
CR: Ah. What does she think of that?
H: She doesn’t seem too thrilled.
CR: Oh? Why not?
H: Well, you know her. She doesn’t really say much. She’s more of a listener. Maybe it was the thought of wearing uncomfortable shoes. Or maybe she’s just scared to ride the bus by herself. Who knows.
CR: Two words. Kitty pumps.
H: (in fit of giggles) How about it RK?
RK: …
H: Guess not.

Crawled out of bed and decided that black Holly Golightly dress had been hanging quietly in closet just way too long. Pulled out said dress, knock-em dead knee high boots and Jackie-O sunglasses (forget the fact that is currently pouring-down rain). Glazed lips with raspberry pink stain and headed out the door exactly one hour late for work.
Heard blue-jumpsuit-clad city workers mumbling and saw leering as approached, but was not until had passed by that heard ridiculously loud wolf call. In fine sassy fashion, right hand shot out of pocket and greeted fine city workers with beautifully manicured middle finger. Did not look back. Men in blue were silent for few seconds, but knew they’d seen friendly overture when heard laughter and more wolf calls. Glad to amuse, fellas.

Is simply going to be that sort of day.

Congratulations.
You’ve been very quiet lately. Congratulations for what?
You’ve made it a week. One full week and not a single sob-fest, tantrum or bout of excessive dismantling of last Wednesday’s fiasco with J.
One week? Tell me it’s been six.
I think one is pretty impressive. You haven’t even emailed him. Or even started to. You haven’t even indulged in scrolling to his name in your cell phone.
It’s all about denying my nature. How v. Puritan of me.
Sing with me, now. I know your friends are. Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty….
That’s enough, smart ass.
You missed me.
I’d like to miss you again.
Ah, you don’t mean it.
It should take you exactly four seconds to cross from here to that door. I’ll give you two.
You do Hepburn proud.
Indeed.

Went to see award-nominated film last night with gal pal, and ended evening in Ivy League bookstore so she could purchase book of same name. Had forgotten just how much love that possess for books. Am that girl walking down aisles, fondling spines of new paperbacks, lusty look in her eye. Am that girl who makes bibliophile sound dirty.
Kept grabbing galpal to say, “Have you read this one?”

S: How do you have time to read so much? You must have read a third of these books!
H: Used to work at a bookstore in college. I had a book-a-day habit.
S: You’re kidding!
H: Nope. They let us take them home from the store, so I never had to pay for them. Too bad the Gap doesn’t have the same policy. (sigh) I love books.
S: You should work in publishing. That’s all you’d have to say at your interview. I’d hire you.
H: Do you pay well?

Being the magical day that it is (for no other reason than have decided it to be so), will be starting the Summer-Means-Swimwear, Perk-up-that-Ass plan. Have let self go just enough that will be something of a challenge. And now that have plenty of time on J-less hands, might do v. well to challenge self. Am telling self that will be easy. All that is required is a bit of discipline and… well, saying good-bye to some old friends.

Dear Ben and Jerry,

It’s been real. Thanks for the good times. See ya in about, what… six months?

All the love in my heart,

H

Haven’t seen G in probably three years. Haven’t even emailed said ex-oh-so-important-male-figure-in-young-life for at least a year. And yet, when checked message on home phone, was jaw-dropped shocked to hear G’s voice hoping he’d gotten the right number.
Did not give G home phone number. Did not give anyone (aside from the UMF) home phone number, as do not believe in landlines for sheer inconvenience of them.
Strange. V. strange indeed. Thus, out of the woodwork crawls G.
Am hoping is not calling to announce marriage or any other sort of joyous occasion. The one who does the moving on to bigger and better things should be the one with the joyous news. NOT the one who stays put to live in same city as parents for the rest of v. boring life. There are rules about such things!
On another note, have been asked on v. first Post-J-Fiasco date. C was kind enough to make it seem low-pressure – drinks, bite to eat, etc. But, well, am afraid may be a v. sincere fellow and party-flirting on the part of yours truly may have come off as genuine interest. Not that am not interested. Simply had not crossed my mind. May be worth a shot. Will see.

Missing-in-Action Galpal cancelled BigCity trip plans Friday afternoon, leaving yours truly in quite the lurch. Ended up on five-hour bus ride sitting next to College Boy Who Sighs at Least Provocation whose breath smelled as though had not only eaten something quite foul, but had been separated from his toothbrush for ages. Would have felt sorry for Sighing Boy, but well, stench was simply too overwhelming.
Needless to say, was ever-so-grateful to escape bus and into warm welcoming of v. kind and accommodating hostess. Had such a nice time doing girly manicure things, ordering bad-for-figure foods and primping for night out on the town.
Joined even-more-super-adorable-in-real-life Bob, Doug and friend (Jeff, is it?) for what turned out to be evening of Mexican food, margaritas, and yours truly obnoxiously crooning to super sad latin ballads, wishing had not worn impossible-to-retain-proper-blood-flow knee high boots. A fine time, indeed.
Highlight of weekend away, though, was earning the Most Low Maintenance Houseguest award from Miss Goes Down. Am truly honored. Am expecting trophy to arrive any day.

Blue Fish.

Funny thing is, really am not. Blue, that is. Thought would be inconsolable for several weeks, weeping and wailing and gnashing teeth in classic biblical mourning style. However, aside from horribly difficult exchange with J on Wednesday, and few, sparse pangs of regret, worry, and what-ifs since, have felt remarkably balanced.

Now, if only, complexion would follow suit.

Am certain that melancholy will catch up eventually. But for now, am taking current mood as sign to get up, get out and get proverbial groove on. Perhaps even test-drive a new bicycle or two.

Now accepting applications

Have been spontaneously gifted by fate!

Missing-in-Action galpal surfaced with offers of transportation to and from BigCity for weekend of fun, sitting-around-pining alternative. Weee!

Have already made joy-inspiring plans with Miss Goes Down and Feisty Feminine Bob for evening of drinking, dancing and flirting with wild abandon. Shall do said shameless flirting with any and every attractive man within flirting radius.

Will put stiletto heeled, knee-high boots on feet, look-at-me-glow bronzer on cleavage and divine smelling scents on all strategic body parts. But will not shave my legs. Why? Because do not have to. Indeed, do not. Will say it again: Weee!

Am uncontrollably giddy to see my Gal, Miss Goes Down, for weekend of pj’s and pints (ice cream, of course).

Cloud, meet your silver lining.

H: (blah blah blah) I don’t think we should see each other anymore (blah)
J: (blah blah) I don’t want to lose you (blah)
H: You know how I feel. You also have to realize how hard it is to watch things change. I can’t do it.
J: Lets give this some time before we make any final decisions, okay?

Did not reply.

First of all… We??? Do not remember putting out ballots for democratic vote. Is not a decision to be made by anyone other than yours truly at this point.

Secondly, more time??? Time for what, dear J? Time for things to maybe not work out with New Girl in which case you will have inordinate amount of free time on your hands once again? Or, perhaps, time so that will have change of mind and suddenly be able to handle non-relationship again?

Incidentally, met New Girl at the same time J did. In the hot tub where sat explaining the complexity of the non-relationship. On Valentine’s Weekend Ski trip. Trip that yours truly paid for because of under-funded J and roommate squabble. Ah, sweet, glorious irony.

Am not sure whether to attribute horrible puffy feeling surrounding eyes to wine/Tylenol Pm hangover, or yesterday’s intermittent crying spells. Have told self that am done crying, but then again, horrible images of J with New Girl seem to counteract any sort of resolve on my part. Bother.

H: I know as much as you think you mean that (that no one can replace what I mean to you), it’s just not true. As much as we mean to each other and as good as it all is, it’s not permanent.
J: Gee, thanks.
H: What do you mean?
J: It’s disturbing to think that you hold our friendship in such delicate regard.
H: I can’t even explain what I’m thinking, so we might as well drop this for now.
J: Hey, you okay?
H: Not really.
J:…….

Wandered home from work sometime around three yesterday with ultra-depressing music on headphones and made bee-line for hot bath. (Fortunately, boss is out until Wednesday, so actually had free time to go into Don’t-Speak-to-Me mode. Is not often that am allowed the necessary time it takes to have a complete breakdown.)
While fingers started to resemble dried fruit, soaked in v. hot water, waiting to hear the voice. The one that, usually accompanied by strange sense of calm, ultimately comes to say, “It’s gonna be okay, Kiddo.” Heard no such voice and finally got tired of waiting. Fuck you, Inner Goddess. Took a Xanax and crawled under the covers.
Fourteen hours later, crawled back out and started all over again. Am still waiting. Have heard from neither J nor Inner Goddess in over twenty-four hours.
J is in training and IG? Missing in action.

Hello?
(silence)
Listen, you can come pester me now. I’m asking you to.
(silence)
You can tell me you were right! I’ll believe you! You can tell me I’m a fucking idiot! You can tell me anything! Just tell me… something.
(silence)
Please?

No, no, no!

See, this was not how it was supposed to work. Clearly, did not get applications reviewed in time (having been impaired by current illness), but the plan was for J to be replaced before he did the replacing!
By means of J-Intuition knew that he had a date on Saturday night, and even with whom he was going. So when he fessed up via email, was not shocked. Not in the least. Stung within inch of life by some horrid torture device? Sure. But not shocked.
Told J that was unhappy with idea of being replaced.

J: H, no one on the face of the earth could replace what you mean to me.
H: If only that were true.

Feel as though am watching pageant winner being fitted with sparkly tiara, while yours truly fidgets with stiff, glitter-encrusted sash bearing horrible words, First Runner Up hearing cheeseball announcer handing out slimy condolences, “If for any reason tonight’s winner should be unable to fulfill her duties…” Perhaps if fidget enough, will not have to hear crowned winner pledging to do her best, etc.
Am used-up, empty, First Runner Up. Winner of lifetime supply of nothing special.
Oh, and this sash.

Am absolutely certain did not purchase one-ply bathroom tissue on purpose. Could not, especially if had any inkling of perpetual runny nose that am suffering from at the moment. Am not looking forward to going to place of employment on Monday morning with nose resembling that of most famous reindeer of all, not to mention not cherishing feeling as though have just vigorously rubbed most tender parts of face across street pavement. Two-ply or nothing, God damn it.
Tonight’s party was uneventful. Spent most of evening getting trashed on strawberry margaritas and angering Passive Agressive Girl by flirting with object of her affection. Yes, am evil. But was fair in the end as yours truly left with galpal and Passive Agressive Girl took flirting boy up to her bed.
Have decided must become involved in stable relationship, if for no other reason than steady source of sex. Current supply is simply not adequate; something of a sex shortage. Think that have stumbled upon situation in which supply and demand theory proves to be bunch of nonsense.
Nonsense indeed.

Am not certain whether have the old addage correct. Starve a cold, feed a fever? Or feed a fever, starve a cold? Either way, one thing am sure of, steady intake of orange juice and Hershey bars is nowhere near close to curing this gal’s current cold crisis.
Am miserable.
Fortunately, have been able to see through misery to bright spot in afternoon. Have shaved my legs so as not to freak out kindly massage giver, and taken double dose of Dayquil so as not to appear complete mucousy mess.
Am quite the vision today, must say. Just lovely. If am lucky, will, while attending party this evening (to which do not plan on wearing neither make up nor uncomoftable/attractive clothing), meet new, gorgeous possible J-replacement. And upon meeting said fellow, frighten poor thing with new grunge-inspired look, or if the Gods are really kind, ooze some form of mucous on him.
Am giddy with anticipation.
No, really.

Dear Natalie Portman,

H

Need quite desperately to do laundry again. Damn vicious cycle. Perhaps will resort to nudity and render the entire process unnecessary. Or perhaps not. Don’t really have the figure for prancing about in the buff, nor have any interesting tattoos to take focus away from less-than-perfect body parts. Besides, would have to shave my legs just way too often. Guess will be doing laundry this weekend.
Will also be getting full body massage. J, noting crazy stress that have been under, suggested that yours truly clear her calendar for Saturday afternoon. Said time is now booked for this fish to get a massage, courtesy of J. Good boy. V. good boy.

Started off the day brilliantly with unexpected call from UMF. Must get caller ID at work. Simply must.

Seems Smart Assed Sibling is in midst of rather serious teen-angst episode and UMF, with all of her Mother of the Year parenting skills seem insufficient to deal with said episode (shocker!). Thus, yours truly was being recruited to fix things. Phoned tired-sounding sibling, but was not feeling inclined to badger or pry. Thus, made no headway. Have stopped answering phone.

Have nearly thrown several temper tantrums at place of employment as well. In venting with GalPal, came to conclusion that will skip unnecessary and annoying conversation altogether and start delivering well-timed (and well-deserved) Piggy Chops. Hiiii-yah!

A: What’s going down?
H: You mean who.
A: Ok, who’s going down?
H: You, if you’re holding another conference report for me to edit.
A: I’m leaving now.
H: Hiiii-yah!

And worst of all predicaments: Am certain to miss out on, So-the-Millionaire-Picked-You-But-You-Still-Lose-’Cause-He-Cheated reality television special as have such poor reception that network television is simply not watchable. Is there no justice?? If cannot escape stress of monkey job, should at least be able to seek solace in watching Helene cry her anorexic little body into a snotty heap on the ABC studio floor. Right?

Evil. Pure evil.

Dear Former Cellular-Phone Provider,

H

Am on line with aforementioned company trying to explain, in v. simple terms, why should not have to pay for service that cancelled over three months ago. Not that cannot pay outstanding balance of $132.47, but is a matter of principle at this point. If faceless voice at other end of line would go that extra special mile and check to see that no activity has been posted to said account since November, then argument would be pointless. Fuckwits.

It’s very big of you to take out all your frustrations on that poor customer service girl.
Well, she’s retarded.
You’re having what amounts to a nervous breakdown, and it’s the cell phone company’s fault?
Exactly. My god, you’re astute.
Yes, I am. And that’s how I know this has nothing to do with $132.47, and everything to do with what J said in the hot tub.
Come on. I always knew that’s how he felt.
But now he actually said it. To a handful of strangers.
It was inevitable, really. Sad, though. That as close as we are, and as good as it can be, it’s not…
Permanent.
Nothing is.
*Ahem* as your Inner Goddess, I’d just like to point out that when we chose roles, MINE was the cynic. Where did this pessimism come from? Besides, it’s not true.
Yeah? Name one thing, besides these extra 10 pounds, that’s going to be with me forever.
Me.
Oh God. Kill me now.

B: Knock, knock
H: Who’s there?
B: Dwayne.
H: Ugh. Dwayne da baftub, you’re dwowning?
B: Dwayne da hot tub so I can see da rack.
H: Ha!

H: How wrapped up in each other’s lives can two people be? We’re an anomaly. We should be studied. Like lab rats.
J: Yeah, but only if they give us the cool psychological drugs to play with.
H: And if they make us run mazes, there can’t be some crazed guy with an axe chasing us. That just wouldn’t be right. (Reference to The Shining)
J: How messed up was that movie?
H: Good stuff. But not nearly as compelling as Bum Fights. That Rufus is the next big reality TV star.
J: “Who Wants to Marry Rufus?”
H: We’re going to hell.
J: You and I? Yeah, I know

One food fight (consisting mainly of melting, semi-sweet chocolate chips), two v. lazy days (consisting mainly of THC-enhanced board games and MTV marathons), three v. drunken nights (consisting mainly of alternating white wine and Smirnoff Ice) and four-hour drive home in blizzardy conditions add up to v. interesting weekend away.

Of the seventy-something hours spent in the v. cold New Hampshire mountains, the most memorable sixty minutes or so were spent trying to put into semi-succinct terms, the oddity that is the H&J relationship to virtual strangers. Was personally a v. difficult thing, sitting among the six un-clothed hot-tubbers, knowing that yours truly was being emotionally disrobed as well. At times, wanted to leap from foamy water and shout, “Yeah, yeah, so we’re really messed up. Look at me, I’m naked!” and put an end to the whole extravaganza.

Though was v. nice to hear J tell sauna strangers that am wonderful, and loves me ever-so-much, was caught off guard by how disturbing it was to hear reference made to this twisted best-friendship existing in five years and impact that will have on future, and separate dating relationships. Was honest enough (and drunk enough) to admit that was going to be v. difficult when either one starts actively dating again. After being badgered by Out-Spoken Stranger, J confessed to having not thought through possibility that yours truly would find someone before he did. Indeed.

OSS: Seriously, you haven’t talked about what it’s going to be like?
J: (turning towards me) Have you actually thought about this?
H: Is it hot in here? I think I need to go back in the house.

Results of said hot-tub expose ranged from dry, irritated skin (due to ridiculous amount of chemicals present in water), to frantic, mid-night bathroom sex (due to ridiculous amount of people present in small mountain cabin), and finally, to realization by yours truly that it is time to move on (due to ridiculous amount of time spent not doing so).

Now accepting applications.

Lasagna baked, for-the-road sandwiches made and house tidied up. Have indeed been possessed by the less-financially astute spirit of Martha Stewart. Or Jodi Foster, as hair is looking so v. Breck Girl-ish today. *flip!* Cannot stop flipping hair as though were either Breck Girl herself, or fifteen year old mall rat, clutching bag of new Steve Maddens, sipping faux-healthy, but ever-so-trendy smoothie and eyeing clerk at the Sun Glass Hut. *flip!*
Those were the days.

Happy love day to all. Am off on non-skiing ski trip. And am wearing simply fabulous new bra, so better get some nookie. Or there will be hell to pay.

There simply must be some reasonable explanation for why am currently having songs from Disney’s Pete’s Dragon replay over and over in an otherwise empty head, and why had dreams featuring J and Paris Hilton last night. And no, have never done acid. Though, after a few more hours of “A dragon, a dragon…” acid (and other substances) will certainly be a consideration.

Tomorrow being mushy, romance-driven day in which yours truly celebrates having never been recipient of flowers or any other romantic gesture, will be passing the day in preparations for long weekend ski trip. Perhaps by pouring love and attention into one giant lasagna, will not feel as though entire existence is a complete waste. Okay, so am not really bitter. But am aware that is much more fashionable in feminist world to despise the holiday. Still, cannot help but love the love day. So what if have never gotten flowers or ultra-cheesy bear-like toy brandishing slimy looking silk heart with “i love you” in scripty white font?

Feather boa be donned and feminism be damned.
This fish needs a bicycle and she likes Valentine’s Day.

Sadly, was in the middle of grocery shopping when realized was missing second-favorite reality program. So-You-Want-To-Be-Humiliated-by-a-British-Prick was on and there was nothing to be done about it.

H: J! We’re missing American Idol!
J: I think I’ll survive. How about you?
H: *gasp* You’re dead to me. (Ignoring strange looks from cashier) I need to get Tivo.
J: That’s expensive. Besides, you don’t even have cable.
H: So?? Fine. Cable first, then Tivo.
J: You’re a nut.

En route to raid local grocery store of entire selection of snack foods (in preparation for ski weekend), was recipient of yet another moment of clarity and sincerity. Was told by J, that as a female, in regards to all-around stability and goodness, yours truly ranks at v. top of the list. Right after his mother. Which, knowing how much this man truly loves his mother, was quite the compliment. Did not know quite what to say, so quietly thanked him.

J: You know I’d do just about anything for you. You know that, right?
H: Yes, I do.
J: Good.

J: Did you get your mail?
H: Um, no, I guess not, since I have no idea what you’re talking about.
J: In your mailbox! You didn’t see something from [insert name of Large Telecom Company here]?
H: I did, but I thought it was a mailer.
J: (laughing)

Upon re-examining large, white envelope from Large Telecom Company, realized that was A) not postmarked and B) not addressed to anyone. With J on the line, opened large white envelope to find color print of new, favorite random celebrity, Terry Tate, Office Linebacker. Print features Mr. Tate reclining in pool floatation device, wearing leopard print swimwear and sipping a fruity cocktail.
Somewhere between volunteering to lug enormous amounts of my laundry to the center-o-fun that is the laundromat, and offering a massage for this weary and v. whiney gal, J threatened that he had a present for yours truly.

H: (in fit of giggles) Is this my present?!
J: Yes. Do you like it?
H: Like it?! I love it. My v. own Terry. He’s going right next to my computer so I can see him while I work.

Spent v. funny evening doing laundry, eating bad-for-self greasy, fast food and watching taunting So-You-Want-to-Marry-A-Guy-Who’s-Not-Really-A-Millionaire. J even did his best to avoid touching any unmentionables and helped to fold…a towel. Yes, just one. But the effort was noted. As was the fact that never did get that massage. Ah well. Are going grocery shopping tonight in preparation for long weekend get-away. Will claim it then.

Have just spent the last 15 minutes in discussion with receptionist on the following theme: While really v. incredibly silly, xXx is indeed worthwhile film and Mr. Vin Diesel v. extremely attractive in a don’t-speak-unless-it’s-scripted kinda way. Just sit there and look v. dangerous, please. Many thanks.

Am having fabulous hair day. Must repeat, fabulous. Even after smooshing it under wooly winter hat, is looking quite amazing. Is a shame to waste such hair being at monkey job all day. Will have to go shopping at lunch so as to expose as much of the general public as possible to these ever-so-luxurious locks.

Countdown begins to long ski weekend away in v. cold mountains. Am not, as have said in past, a skier. So shall be spending entire weekend in front of cozy fireplace not skiing. And am perfectly happy to do so. Will be taking plenty of reading materials and hot chocolate, as well as items of contraband for weekend well-spent.