Remember that one time I had a blog?

Ironic that my last blog was about the end of the world. Were you worried about me? Did you think that my world ended on October 24, 2007? That would be confusing for you, since your world didn't end, and all previous evidence has pointed to us living in the same world. Tell me more about your cosmology some other time, though. Suffice to say that neither of our worlds has ended as of my writing.


Update on happenings in my world in the last 10 months:

Houseboy has cooked eggplant parmigiana, ratatouille, vegetarian paella, tofu curry (I'm back off fish), and sundry other delicacies to soothe the savage beast, or breast as the case may be.

I have seen movies, 94.73% of which were good to excellent; and I have gone on camping trips, 73.6% of which were rated "worthwhile" by the participants.

I have finished work projects, which have stalled in the editing stages above me, and engaged in a war of attrition with all members of my department. I am The Highlander. There can be only one.

I had a dream about a verdant valley filled with tiny giraffes.

I have reclaimed the dream of a Central Division Title for the Twins, and only cried a little when I saw Torii Hunter in an Angels uniform.

I have read all the way to the K's in my library, with a time-out for books bought in airports (Catcher in the Rye, Rant) and books from the McSweeney's Book Club (Maps and Legends, All Known Metal Bands, Where to Invade Next, Underground America, Arkansas).

Houseboy and I have walked to Lincoln Park for brunch, jetted to York for a wedding and popped out to DC for the fireworks. The cats are not happy with us, and I have the urine-stained traveling bag to prove it. The Fat One has altogether forgotten how to speak English and only looks at me with blank eyes and licks his lips.


Things that have not changed in the last 10 months:

I have not grown any taller, any smarter or any better at the piano.

No one has offered to sponsor me for a year in Spain to work on my Spanish and my paella-eating.

With my back to the moon I can still spit 40 feet.

All signs point to the end of the world

This morning, the ad on the side of my bus spontaneously fell off on the highway.

My fingertips are tingling, and my right elbow is slightly colder than my left.

The women's restroom smells like Froot Loops.

And, most importantly, a drawing of mitochondria has mysteriously appeared on my work notepad.

Tiramisu for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner

Due to recent dreams of chewing rocks, I am on a strict diet of tiramisu and mashed potatoes. I'll be publishing my diet book soon.

I reiterate, no hidden meanings

Last night I was having a totally normal dream I can't remember, when a giant tarantula came crawling in from the side of the screen and started eating the dream. When it was finished it started crawling down my arm and over the edge of the mattress to hide under the bed. I had to turn on the light and check under everything to make sure it wasn't really there.

Dreams don't have hidden meanings

The other night I dreamt that I had one of those rainmaking sticks like you can buy at the Renaissance Festivals. There was a giant black python that was evil and I turned the rainmaking stick into a bunch of little green snakes that killed the black python and then came back and turned into the rainmaking stick. Except one of them went slithering off and didn't come back. All I thought was "I hope no one finds out that that was my snake."

Last night I had a dream I was eating rocks out of spite.