Dancing Brave

Happy Birthday To Meeeee

The end of my 20s was, ultimately, rather anticlimactic: I watched two episodes of Flight of the Conchords and read half an issue of Us Weekly before falling asleep just shy of midnight, while Kevin read in bed beside me.

The beginning of my thirties was marked by me waking up at 12:45 a.m., realizing Kevin had left but that his lamp was still on, and wondering if I should get up and check on him to make sure he was not somehow mysteriously dead. [He wasn't.] Really, it was just any old night -- a pair of very normal days stitched together by the same basic stuff I always do. And that's the way it should be, because anything else blows up the birthday into The Birthday, and that's when I stand in front of my mirror analyzing my pores and wondering if what I have next to my eyes counts as crow's feet.

It's good, though. I feel just fine. I feel, as I should, almost exactly the same as I did yesterday. This pleases me. I love my birthday; I don't want to wake up one day and be afraid of it until I actually have something to be afraid of, like liver spots and cataracts.

Of course, forces outside my control made it A Big Day. There was a 3.5 earthquake in Chatsworth about half an hour ago, which I felt as one hard jolt followed by a little wobbling of all the items on my desk. Either God was saying hello, or he was foreshadowing what he's about to do to my metabolism and my skin. And, the 90210 reruns of the day are: 1) David Silver records "You Are So Precious To Me. Am I Precious To You?" in a studio, which means I got to hear it over and over again; and 2) Kelly takes diet pills and passes out in the Peach Pit bathroom at her 18th birthday surprise party, while Brandon and Steve are on a dating game show. Clearly, 90210 is so precious to me, and I am precious to it. And finally, my horoscope says this is a day on which I will learn a huge secret from a friend of mine -- something I could never have imagined. So what's it gonna be, ladies? Which one of you is secretly bald? Which one of you is in love with Chad Michael Murray and too afraid to admit it until now? Who has the sixth (and seventh!) toes on their right foot? It's safe now. 'Fess up.

In all, though, I'm leaving my 20s without any question marks, and I think I'm happiest about that. Life wasn't always perfect, and it wasn't always exciting, but I did enough and saw enough and cried enough and laughed enough for it to feel like a tremendously full decade. It doesn't feel like there are any blank spaces back there I crudely left unfilled. In 10 years, I've gained and lost weight over and over, and ended up in better shape exiting the decade than when I arrived in it. I've learned to moisturize. I discovered eyebrow-shaping techniques and ran with them. I played with highlighting my hair. I visited nine foreign countries, a few more than once, and lived in six different dwellings with three different people (and once, in Austin, with nobody but my own damn self). One sister got her Ph.D. and got married; the other gave birth to the three children she'd always dreamed of having. I lost touch with, or just lost, more friends than I'd care to count, but gained the best ones I've ever had. And I met the love of my life, the person who is the very reason every cliche exists: He makes me better, he makes me happier, he makes me stronger, and he makes every day more colorful and fun than the last. Sometimes I can't hug him tight without getting misty. After all the rivers I cried in my twenties, some for heartbreak I should've seen coming and some for pain that caught me by surprise, it feels good to have the right kind of tears welling up in my eyes.

And just for fun -- for me; tedious for you, unless you were there for any of them -- I wonder if I can remember where I was, or what I was doing, on all my birthdays from that decade.

Quizzes!

Copped this list from Jason, via Becca.

1) Was 2005 a good year for you?
Yes, I really think it was. There's a lot I didn't do, but so much other stuff happened that I wasn't expecting.

2) What was your favorite moment of the year?
I'm sorry -- I know this is not the answer everyone wants to hear, but I can't help it: I was pretty stoked to get engaged. But I also had some wonderful times at five weddings in 2005, including one that ended in a relaxing (once I turned off my work-addled brain) beach vacation for me and Kevin. The nights we sat on the beach in our deckchairs and read, munched macadamia nuts, and sipped beers as we watched the sun set were particularly amazing moments in their quiet simplicity.

3) What was your least favorite moment of the year?
I drove myself insane at work. Almost for real. Having to explain to my boss why I couldn't come back for season 5 was among the harder things I've ever done, because I don't like to admit defeat, especially when it's a complete mental defeat. On that tangent, there were a lot of tearful nights and crying jags that came -- I thought -- out of nowhere. ... Also, Reunion got cancelled and I'm never going to know who killed that girl I don't like that much, and why Will Estes' character became a priest, and how The Mole got in his wheelchair and then rehabbed himself out of it in secret. The other two I don't care about, but man, was that bad show ever one of the best things in the 2005 fall TV season. I can't believe I get no satisfaction now.

4) Where were you when 2005 began?
Park City, Utah.

5) Who were you with?
Kevin. After a day of cold skiing, we watched the "Rock, Paper, Scissors" championship on ESPN -- no lie -- and then went for a steak dinner before retreating to our cosy little condo/hotel room combo with some wine. We rang in the new year cuddling on the couch and fell asleep about 15 minutes later.

6) Where [were you] when 2005 [ended]?
At one of our usual haunts on Wilshire, doing Irish car bombs and buttery nipples and listening to the dumbfounding and confounding musical choices made by the worst and rudest DJ in the history of the world -- DJ Danny of Santa Monica. DJ Danny, I get it that not everybody likes Britney Spears. But when a patron requests it, you don't treat that person like dirt. Likewise, if someone asks you to play "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard, the correct response is NOT, "Ugh. I don't play that. It's not for bars." And when someone requests "Kiss" by Prince, a song we've hit upon because we know from experience that it's in your collection, you do not ignore that person four times until the bar owner has to come over and ask you himself.

And for good measure, asshat, no one wants to hear you sing along to the song in your microphone. This is not your own personal karaoke hour; this is a DJ gig, and we're there to dance to the music, not hear you croon over it tunelessly. And on New Year's Eve, or in a bar at ANY time, ever, it is NOT the appropriate time to play "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman. Also, don't play a cool jazz remix of the classic "Let's Get It On," by Marvin Gaye. Just stick with the tried-and-true original. Indeed, don't play cool jazz at all, okay? What's more, don't play two Barry White songs in a row, and don't blow your Michael Jackson wad by trying to make a medley of six songs instead of playing all of them spaced out through your set. You are the rudest DJ ever and have shown an almost historic inability to read a room. Well done. Now stop.

7) Who will you be with when 2005 ends?
Lauren, Jessica, Carrie, Kevin, Greg, Aletha, Dave, and for a quick ten minutes, Catherine. Oh, and DJ Danny.

8) Did you keep your New Year's resolution of 2005?
I have no recollection of making a resolution, but maybe I did. Actually, you could probably count my "101 in 1001" list as a resolution of sorts, which means I kept some and didn't get around to others. Generally, I always want to eat better and exercise more; I did the former not one bit, and the latter intermittently.

9) Do you have a New Year's resolution for 2006?
Eh. For the first four months I need to get my shit in gear so that I fit into my lovely dress. Professionally, Jessica and I have a few things we want to get going on together, and I really do think we'll make headway.

10) Did you fall in love in 2005?
Every day.

11) If yes, with whom?
With the apartment I'm going to move into on Saturday, with Kevin (awwwwwww... barf), with my friends, with the way my sister Julie's boyfriend makes her feel, with Roscoe von Secondhausen the Metrosexual But Occasionally Cross-Dressing Mule, with everyone on my Sex Camp list... the list is long. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Mostly because the latter requires effort. Lazyness begets love, perhaps.

12) If yes, do they know?
Probably. I know Roscoe does. I tell him all the time.

13) Are you still in love with them?
Certainly!

14) Do you regret it?
Not one bit. Sedentary time well-spent.

15) Did you breakup with anyone in 2005?
No. Well, except for some of the former members of my Sex Camp brigade. We're done.

16) Did you make any new friends in 2005?
Yes.

17) Who are your favorite new friends?
I can't answer that! Stop trying to get me in trouble.

18) What was your favorite month of 2005?
Kevin and I had a fabulously languid April, part of which saw us unemployed at the same time. And September was dear to my heart. Not only did I dress up my left-hand ring finger, but Jess and I were in the Wall Street Journal.

19) Did you travel outside of the US in 2005?
No, which is really depressing.

20) How many different states did you travel to in 2005?
Utah, Nevada, Maryland, New Jersey, Hawaii, Indiana, Illinois. [Arizona almost made the cut, but not quite.]

21) Did you lose anybody close to you in 2005?
No.

22) Did you miss anybody in the past year?
All the time. I hate missing out on so much of my nieces' growth and development, and my whole family never gets enough together-time. I also made some stabs at reconnecting with a couple high school pals.

23) What was your favorite movie that you saw in 2005?
You expect me to remember? Um... Okay, I'll admit it: I thought Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit was utterly charming and wonderful. I liked Crash. And I liked Hustle & Flow, although it wasn't the best movie of the year for me. Oh, I thought Batman Begins was surprisingly compelling. Lord, I don't know. Do I have to start keeping a list? Evidently I do.

24) What was your favorite song from 2005?
"Neighborhood #3" is the one on my workout mix that I don't get sick of, ever, because it's a great running song for me. "Absolute Affirmation" from Radio 4 is another favorite; there's a song by Sia on the Six Feet Under soundtrack that I'm hoping comes available on iTunes soon, and I kind of like doing strip-class to Nada Surf's "If You Leave" remake. Shatner's "Common People" is genius.

25) What was your favorite record from 2005?
More Adventurous, by Rilo Kiley. I didn't list any of the songs above, because I like listening to it as a whole, and also, I don't know when it was actually released. But I found it in 2005. Art Brut's whole album is funny, too. Oh, and the Shout Out Louds put out a great record called Howl, Howl, Gaff, Gaff. That band was a Coachella highlight for me.

26) Did you see any concerts this year?
I did indeed. I saw my friend Aaron's band perform, I went to Coachella and saw a whole mess of people, I saw the All-American Rejects with Jen, I saw Rilo Kiley and Spoon each a second time, and I saw Queen with Paul Rodgers. I think that's it. Coachella kind of went a long way for me -- didn't need to do that much energetic concert-going after that.

27) Did you have a favorite concert in 2005?
Rilo Kiley's two sets were awesome, the Shout Out Louds were good, Spoon's second set was really fun, but Arcade Fire completely rocked Coachella and that was probably the best one I saw.

28) did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2005?
Not nearly as much as I have in past years, and that actually made me kind of happy. I felt better for more of the year, that's for sure. I've picked up a wine habit but I'm good about it.

29) did you do a lot of drugs in 2005?
Nary a one, except some prescription antibiotics for my ear infection (yes, I'm an infant suddenly) and some painkillers for the same ailment.

30) Did you hope for something you didn't get in 2005?
Oh sure: will power, peace of mind, a new bathrobe. The usual.

31) Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year?
I don't think I've been nearly as on top of my current job as I should be, and I'm struggling with that. It's always tough to strike a balance between "overly obsessed and worried and letting it rule your life" and "completely lackadaisical," and I am now wondering if I've erred too much on the side of the latter. I also fucked up and forgot to call my father on his birthday, which really, really stank. Not because he was mean or angry about it, but because he was cool and understanding about it. That's almost worse.

32) What was the biggest lie you told in 2005?
"I really love working here." There are things about it that I love, and at times I have loved it, but when I was called upon to say those words I was lying.

33) What was the worst lie someone told you?
"Why didn't you ever e-mail me about that? I didn't receive a single e-mail or heads-up about that problem."

34) Did you treat somebody badly in 2005?
Probably, without meaning to; I'm horrible at keeping in touch with people who aren't right in front of me, and I get impatient easily, which leads to snappishness.

35) Did somebody treat you badly in 2005?
Yeah, I think so. And I like to think that deep down, this person is aware of it, although I'm sure ego will prevent any actual helpful realizations to this effect.

36) How much money did you spend in 2005?
Tons, because we took lots of short trips that don't always come with small costs. And then I laid down a security deposit.

37) What was your proudest moment of 2005?
Oy, I don't know. I'm very happy with how the Web site has gone, and seeing myself and Jessica on the front page of the WSJ was really pretty incredible. I was really proud of us on that day.

38) What was your most embarrassing moment of 2005?
I always forget these. Whenever something really embarrassing happens to me, I say to myself, "Remember this for the next time you're asked to identify an embarrassing moment," yet sure enough, the brain goes blank at moments like this no matter how many mental Post-Its I write. I went to work one day with a sock stuck up the leg of my pants, but luckily no one saw before I noticed and yanked it out. Oh, and at Christmas, I went to the bathroom and realized that my underwear from two days ago had snuck up my pantleg at calf-level and was teetering on the brink of dropping out my trousers. I'm not sure how that happened, as it certainly wasn't any obvious way. I hid them in the living room among my Christmas gifts, which were waiting for me to haul them upstairs, and somehow mine got mixed in with Julie's and she wrinkled her nose and pointed and said, "What is THAT?" I felt pretty gross. That, and when she was visiting, wrinkled Kleenex kept falling out of my purse. Wow, I sound disgusting. I'm not, I promise.

39) If you could go back in time to any moment of 2005 and change something, what would it be?
I think I'd change how I acted at the end of season -- sorry, "cycle" -- four. I know the things that went on were out of my hands, but if I knew then what I know now, I'd have been equipped properly to handle it and maybe fix a few things, and then I would have worked on season five and had a bit more cash at my disposal now. Not that I'm hurting, but it would have been a boon. Basically, I wish I hadn't melted down, but maybe in some ways I needed to do it.

40) What are your plans for 2006?
To get to April 22, 2006, and have it be exactly as I need it to be. To disappear with Kevin for a brief time. And to get some writing done with Jessica, because I think we have in us the projects we're tiptoeing toward, and this is the year to make it happen. But most of all, in 2006 I want to not judge myself for what isn't done and just enjoy what I am able to do.

Impatient for Bangers

Believe it or not, this is the first Christmas I've spent away from my parents' house in... ever.

It's Mom and Dad's year to spend the holiday with Alison and her kids, but rather than pick up and move their family of five down to Florida for a week -- especially since Mike has to work on Christmas night -- my parents decided to come up to Maryland. They also brought my grandmother, for whom it was her first flight in countless years. She's turning 94 on the 26th and she handled the trip with amazing grace.

Leah stayed at the dinner table with us all night, which is unusual for her -- she generally prefers to go down to the basement and play in her own little world. Maddie and Lauren are as cute and interactive as ever; Julie taught them to "give [us] some sugar" on request. When we hold up our fists and ask for some sugar, Maddie and sometimes Lauren will make a fist in response and tap ours. It's very cute. And they LOVE showing off the tree. Lauren very seriously asked Alison for a green present tonight, and Maddie went from suggesting that Santa wasn't coming this year to proclaiming that Santa would be bringing her a red present. They are too entertaining.

It never ceases to crack me up how easily we are reduced to laughing at the dumbest stuff they do. Lauren blew a raspberry at Alison on command tonight and it was received with almost as much aplomb and appreciation as if she had disproved the theory of relativity. And their latest trick is "cheers," which basically means that when they hear that word, they'll pick up their sippy cups and clink them against your glass. Ah, budding drinkers. We're teaching them bar etiquette and they'll thank us for it one day.

It IS good to be here, though. I miss my family. My father looks a little older to me, which is jarring until I realize that I haven't seen him in a year and so it's logical that he'd have aged. I wish I saw them more often. For one, it's good for me, and for another, I would rather be immersed in them than be able to spot all the ways they've changed since I last saw them. It's the opposite sensation of seeing the kids and cooing over how they've grown and developed and gotten more like little people. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't sit around checking for signs of age on my parents, but on my Dad this time I just somehow got hit with it. And I don't like that. I don't want to be struck by my parents' visible age and sit there contemplating how weird it is to be so hyper-aware that they're not ageless and won't live forever. That's just a downright depressing reality and it's not something I want any part of during Christmas. Man, aren't I a delight? An upper? A ray of sunshine? Eek.

Tomorrow, I have to do my usual spate of last-minute wrapping, and then Julie and I have to go buy the sausages for our traditional Christmas Eve bangers-and-mash dinner, which we're doing on the 23rd this year because Mike has to work on Christmas Day Night. Ergo, Christmas Eve dinner will be on the 23rd, Christmas dinner is on the Eve, and then we open presents on the 25th before Mike goes off to his job. Apparently my family plans everything by what's on the dinner table -- which, incidentally, is JUST FINE by me. I love the way we eat. The bangers-and-mash tradition is one of my favorites. When we lived in England, it was accompanied by a screening of Blackadder's Christmas Carol and then a big show of Julie begging to open a present early, and me refusing to help her try and convince our parents, because I am fanatic about waiting and doing it all on The Big Day.

I do miss Kevin -- it's so much fun to have him share my family, and every time we have fun, I think about how much he'd get a kick out of the kids or the dumb jokes we're making, or the wine. I can't wait to share my family Christmas with him, although it'll be two years because our first Christmas together will be spent with his mother.

I can't complain, though. I am happiest when I'm with these people. Kevin would just be icing. And I LOVE the cold. It's awesome to sit here by a fire knowing that if we open the door, a blast of chilly air will hit. The sensation of coming in from the cold is one of my favorites, and I absolutely adore walking outside in the cold. I really, really need to be bicoastal. This is the most fanciful of pipe dreams, but that's what the holidays are all about for me: curling up in a chair with your family, feeling content and at peace, unafraid to think big for one blissful moment.

Drinky, Drinky

I think the first time I realized I was plastered was when I looked over at a nearby table, and saw five drinks in various stages of fullness, all of which seemed to be vodka tonics; my reaction was to suck down all of them -- regardless, I suppose, of whether any of them were really mine -- so that I could order up a fresh one.

My birthday is tomorrow, so Saturday night all these wonderful people came to a local pool hall and drank with me as I said goodbye to twenty-seven, and played games, and sang to whatever was on the jukebox, and everyone relentlessly refused to let me win despite the number of times I slurred that it was my birthday and therefore perhaps someone ought to think long and hard about whether missing a shot might be a nice gift idea.

I am terrible at planning parties. Immediately, I get overcome by trying to pick a fun venue, and it makes me want to wash my hands of the whole thing and just sit in my living room with a bottle of wine and a bendy straw. Fortunately, Kevin is very cool, and also not so keen on me drinking wine from the bottle by myself; he took over and booked us an upstairs space at this place that I knew about but which would have slipped through the enormous cracks in my panicky party-planning mind, He included six open tables for people to play without paying. And so simple. I think I'm so prone to hostess anxiety that it obscures all clear thought about where to go and what to do. Nice, right? You'd think that, at almost-28, I'd be able to handle something as innocuous as a birthday get-together without breaking out into hives.

The night turned out to be great. It was really fun to see all my bitches mixing with my work pals, then with Kevin's friends, who I guess are officially now my friends as well. I'm truly terrible, though, at mixing with the whole group -- especially if I'm drinking. I just lose my attention span and forget to make sure I've talked to everyone for long enough, or returned to conversations I meant to revisit. The morning after stuff like this, I always wake up chiding myself for not sensibly working the room to make sure everyone knew how happy I was to see them. Having the pool tables there worsened that a little bit, actually, because that's a distraction that can last forever if you're playing badly. Which I was.

There's a bunch of things I remember in snippets. I remember trying to explain to someone how hilarious Rick's gift to me was -- a Mary-Kate and Ashley notebook, an NSYNC and a Backstreet Boys folder, and a folder with a photo of a baby dressed as an angel, with a random name embossed on it -- and totally failing to communicate that (a) it was intentionally awful and funny, and (b) that it was from a friend and not from Kevin. I'm not sure how I whiffed that one. I also remember trying to explain the glories of R. Kelly's "In The Kitchen (remix)," I remember telling Dan I was going to stare at his crotch as a way of practicing my sexual-harrassment techniques just in case we work together again, and I definitely remember that I walked around making stupid excited faces all night, and looked like a complete bimbo.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Or an inaccurate thing. I did really enjoy myself, though; I just feel so lucky to be where I am, with all these people. Through work and through the online stuff and through Kevin -- I guess he counts as "through work," though, really -- I have gotten so lucky and met some smart, talented people who make me laugh every day, and who brighten up a room just by entering it. There was a time when I thought maybe I was deficient for not being in closer touch with a ton of people from college, or high school, and I would berate myself for that a little bit -- as if the measure of a person is how many people from their past are still tied to them. But then on a night like that, I look around at all these faces I love and appreciate, and it's obvious to me that my life isn't lacking anything just because none of them knew me when I was 19. Those people will always be important for the role they played then, but it doesn't mean they have to be there now; if they are, great, but if they're not, it's probably because you grew up and out and needed something different. And I'm so happy with what I've found, and who I've found, and how I found them.

Although one blast from the past, and hopefully now from the present and future, did come: My friend Adam with his lovely girlfriend Dena. He is officially one of my oldest friends, now that we've reconnected, because we first met in Miami at age 13. I've mentioned him before, but it's worth saying again what a fun thing it is to find out that we have both changed so much since middle school, and yet have changed in ways that still give us lots in common. We got into a big conversation the other night about writer's block and feeling underconfident in yourself, and the terror you can feel just by staring at a blank Word document, and it's like, "Wow, we were in The Wizard of Oz together, and now here we are with similar interests again, and similar struggles with them."

Which goes to show that I guess the right people from the past come back into your life at the right time, for the right reasons, and that's a great gift. I'm so grateful for it, and honored and blessed to associate with these amazing people that have, by some happy accident, become my friends. What a fun night; thanks, you guys.

Happy Holidays!

I hope everyone's enjoying Dec. 25, be it a Christmas-related celebration or just another Saturday.

This holiday's been a nice one for us. My grandmother has already said a bunch of bizarre, unbelievable things we can only laugh about in private, we all gave great presents to each other, and we're relaxing while the smells of Christmas dinner float through the house.

[The only wrinkle is the weather. It's raining so hard here that my Dad can't barbecue the turkey, so we're swapping celebrations and having the Beef Wellington we'd planned for my grandmother's birthday tonight, and tomorrow on her birthday we'll do the traditional Christmas meal. Versatility is our game.]

Merry Whatever, everyone!

O Christmas Tree, O Crooked Tree

It stands slightly askew in the corner of our apartment, with uneven lighting and a star atop its peak that lists to one side. And yet somehow, this year's Christmas tree manages to be my favorite.

Sunday was a drizzly one in Los Angeles, with rain falling limply to the ground all day -- persistent but non-threatening heavenly spittle. It almost put us off picking out the tree that night, but Lauren and I started frothing with Christmas cheer a little bit early this year, so waiting would just lead to some embarrassing shrubbery incident wherein we stole some greenery from out front and plopped its muddy roots in the middle of the living room as a placeholder.

So, even with the trees slightly damp and the trunks muddy from the day's downpour, we weren't deterred. We grabbed Kevin, because we are not above taking advantage of his strength, and hit Home Depot.

Wait, I just violated my own promise -- when we arrived and saw that all the signs insist it's "The Home Depot," I swore to respect the store's fanatic devotion to its lead-off article.

The Home Depot (as opposed to, say The Beer Depot, which... hot damn, there needs to be a "The Beer Depot") has nice trees that are priced much lower than the swanky Christmas tree lots, the likes of which Ray Pruit With Only One T Because His Mama Couldn't Afford Another One used to run on 90210 after pumpkin season ended.

We picked up the first unwrapped tree we saw and it seemed a little skinny. Full, which was nice, but slender nonetheless. We furrowed our brows and leaned it back against the fence to root through other offerings. We decided to look at the already fluffed-up trees rather than the ones that were still bound, because they'd likely need an extra day or two to fall into their proper shape -- and we wanted to trim the thing that night. But some of the others were a little brown, or a little too bare, and we kept fondly remembering the skinny tree and its friendly, lush branches. So we returned to it, held it up, and fell in love with its slightly unconventional shape.

"This is the one," Lauren said. I nodded.

Kevin took a deep breath and said, "I have to go inside and buy a toilet handle."

The rain had stopped, but the trunk was gunky, so Lauren and I tried only gripping the tree with one hand while we dragged it forward through the line. Our hands froze next to the cold, wet bark and branches. We opened our mouths to complain about the chill, and then remembered and agreed that any other kind of weather at a Christmas tree lot just wouldn't feel like the right holiday season. It's not worth getting the tree if you don't arrive home with a desperate need for a mug of something hot.

While Chainsaw Bob pruned our tree, I went to pay, hands coated in grime. "Do you have any paper towels or something?" I asked.

The woman looked me up and down. "No," she said, as if my question teetered on the precipice of insanity. "We don't keep paper towels out here."

I stared at my palms, then at Lauren. "Oh," I said, helplessly. And then, as they watched, I just shrugged and wiped them on my pants. I suddenly looked like a fourth-grader after a particularly vicious recess. The checkout girl had the gall to look unamused, despite the blatant lack of planning in not providing hand-cleansing to the people who've manhandled her dirty wares and are now attempting to fork over cash in exchange for the right to continue manhandling her dirty wares. Indeed, if a prostitute looked so horrified at the prospect of filthy jeans, she'd be the cheapest, poorest whore on the block.

They were charging by the foot; we ended up getting a seven-foot Noble Fir for a third of what Ray Pruit and his bastard professional kin would've tried to charge us. God bless The Home Depot.

Kevin returned as we lugged the tree toward the parking lot, surveyed our purchase, and said simply, "My old toilet handle was white. THIS one is GOLD PLATED."

We cooed appropriately. "I wanted one that was bejewelled, but they didn't seem to have any in stock," he said sadly.

With the aid of some twine, we secured the tree to the top of my Honda. Every time we do this, but especially when we're taking it to the recycling place sans netting, I always feel like Max the Dog from The Grinch -- the pooch with the massive antlers strapped to his forehead. To take our minds off the security of the cargo on our vehicular forehead, we blasted "Do They Know It's Christmas?" on the way home, cheering the brave singers as they raise their glasses to all the Africans underneath that burning sun.

Once we got home, things got hairy. We put it in the stand and tightened the screws, and then Lauren stood back and looked at it. "Too far left," she said. So I tinkered, and then she gave Kevin the okay to let go. He did; the tree immediately fell backward onto him.

He caught it with his shoulder as Lauren and I gaped, amazed. "Why...?" I sputtered from my spot on my stomach underneath the branches. Lauren scratched her head. "Maybe if we take it out and put it back in the stand," she suggested.

Four times. FOUR TIMES we had to do this. It felt like we did more screwing in that thirty-minute span than any of us had done in a lifetime. We lifted, we reset, we turned, we pushed, we tightened, we loosened, we cursed. And then finally, magically, the tree was straight.

Well, mostly.

The next step was adorning it with lights, which took Lauren and I -- usually masters of rationing the little colored bulbs to perfection -- screwed up royally, bottom-loading the tree and running out of string before we reached the top. Sighing, I decided to go mull some cider with my spiffy Williams-Sonoma spices while Kevin and Lauren redistributed things.

Twice.

"How is it possible that we're having this much trouble this year?" Lauren groaned. "This has NEVER, EVER happened before. Ever."

Once the tree was finally lit to our satisfaction, we trimmed it with glee. Most of our ornaments have a story, even the box of shiny balls Lauren got from her ex-boyfriend, the details of which are too confusing -- and may involve the mob -- to share. There's a gingerbread man from when I was five, an ornament I got when I was one, and a few that my mother gave me from our home tree that she knew I loved. Lauren has some childhood ornaments, a few that were birthday gifts, and one strange but fabulous one appears to be Noah's Ark.

The tree is a big, living memory, a monument and testament to the people we love and who love us back; even the stuff we bought at Pier 1 and Crate & Barrel this year are part of that. They're new, but they're memories in the making, and they're instant artifacts of the years we've spent sharing a tree. The whole thing glows with warmth and friendliness -- right down to the star, which, of course, sits crookedly on the topmost branch.

"Do we care?" I asked Lauren as we surveyed its wonky posture.

"No," she said.

"No," I agreed. "That's what kind of day it was; in a way, it's the most perfect part of the entire tree."

Kevin nodded. He didn't have anything else to share about his toilet handle.

Bring It On, 2004, You Saucy Minx

Considering all the ups and downs and twisting turns this year took, it's surprising to me that I can sit down now, compare my current situation with last year's, and realize that they're remarkably similar.

At the end of 2002, I was celebrating the successful adjustment to being single, and although I lamented that it meant the loss of an important relationship, it felt good to get out on my own and make my own future rather than stick to the one that seemed safe. Then I met Hunky Cameraman. It was a new thing, but I was excited about where it was going. Things seeme possible. Fresh.

This year, unexpectedly, I can say the same but with a few name changes. Doug returned, and then we split again, and from that big decision I felt like I'd gained a stronger sense of self again. And I'm happy to report that I've recently started seeing someone else -- I can't say I met him, because I've known him very casually through work for a few years -- and I'm again excited about it. The difference is, he lives in LA. And I almost don't want to write anything more for fear of a jinx, but suffice to say he's a great guy and he's my date for tonight and I'm really looking forward to the ways he might enrich my life in 2004.

It feels like full-circle, in a way: Out with the old, and all that. I was upset that things with Hunky Cameraman ended, especially the way they did. I get annoyed when people run away from themselves. But we're better as friends -- I can say that now, and mean it -- and so that relationship is where it should be. I realize my new thing (Are we dating? I guess, although we haven't had time for an official "date" yet -- I'm crap with labels, really) could go any which way, but the fact of it is what gives me hope. For all the days of the year when I feel low, or I feel despair, or I feel unlovable, I can look back at 2002 and now 2003 and see that the sum total of those days is zero. Yes, a relationship I wanted to work ended up falling apart, and yes, there were times I didn't know if I'd ever meet anyone like that again. But then I did. Whether it works or not, whether it lasts another week or a month or longer, I did. And I will. And being able to reflect on the big chunks of time reminds me just how much the good has outweighed the stuff that hurts, and that I should never, ever lose hope the way I want to sometimes.

Other highlights of 2003:

• I became an aunt -- twice more, in fact -- and a godmother to one of them.

• Julie finished her thesis, and now waits for the day she'll defend it to her examiners. Whatever happens in that room won't change the fact that I'm proud of her and impressed with her beyond all words.

• People I loved went to dangerous places: Hunky Cameraman went to Pakistan and then Kuwait, Doug was in the Gulf, and now another dear friend is in Baghdad.

• My father turned 60. Big milestone that I never wrote about, I guess; suffice to say I adore my father and I wish I'd been able to spend the day with him. But the DVD player we sent apparently aptly covered our absence, and now he's addicted to it.

• I went on the best trip of my life, and then wrote about the first timy part of it before forgetting to continue with the travelogue. Someday, I'll keep going -- the problem is, Amsterdam is up next, and I was only there for eight hours so the prospect of finding something worthwhile to say about that is a bit dreary. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but at that point it felt more like a blip than anything profoundly memorable. Still -- someday.

• I cried a lot, over family and over friends and over guys. I hate when we lose our confidence and when we let cracks in our self-esteem erode our strength. And yet we keep doing it, because we're human. The best we can do is be there to hold each other together, because the beautiful thing about family and best friends is that when one of us loses faith in herself or himself, everyone else rallies to build it up again, because we all so unflinchingly and unwaveringly believe in each other. I'm blessed. I never understand how I got so lucky, but I'm damn glad I did.

Tonight, I'm going to a party at his house. I wonder what I should call him in these pages; I'm wary of using his name, for some reason. I could call him Hunky Editor, I suppose. Might as well keep up the silly nicknames, right? Okay. So, I'm going to Hunky Editor's house, as his date, and ringing in the new year with him and his friends. I'm a little nervous, and distraught that I'll miss the shenanigans with the crew, but I'm so excited to have a date -- to be a date -- on Dec. 31. The only New Year's kiss I've ever had was one from Doug, two months before we broke up, and the whole night was terrible, so I need to rinse off that memory with a better kiss. Hopefully I won't make an ass of myself, and be all shy and stupid the way I often am. The booze will help with this, I think. It might make me stupid, or stupider, but at least it'll loosen my tongue. Which will come in handy at midnight, too, naturally.

I've combed my wardrobe with Lauren's help, and come up with a little corset-type top (but less tight) and a black skirt, with black knee-high boots. I think that's safe. The trouble with not knowing his friends, and the fact that he didn't establish a dress code, is that I could show up and find everyone else in jeans and ripped shirts. Now, it IS New Year's, so I imagine people will use that as a reason to get spruced up, but I don't know, and he doesn't seem to know what to expect either, so I guess I'll just go in that and hope that I look cute and that no one will care if I'm overdressed. This is by far the most stressful part of the spectre of New Year's -- What To Wear.

I wish I had deeper year-end thoughts. But, whatever -- this entry isn't supposed to mean anything, or everything. It's just my way of saying, "Damn. What a year." And that I'm looking forward to the one that's coming.

Happy New Year!

• • • • •

Someone got here by searching for: beverly hills, 90210, kelly birthday party diet pills Watching: The Silicon Valley Bowl, in which UCLA tragically lost to Fresno State. Bastards. Drinking: Not yet. But soon. Very soon.

Belated Thanksgiving Update

As we got in the car on Sunday morning and drove through the light San Francisco drizzle, I remember heaving an internal sigh of relief, glad that the weekend was over and that everything could finally start moving forward again.

It was unfair of me to feel that way, because the weekend was far from being a disaster -- in fact, I had a superb time, especially when you consider all that could have gone wrong. But something about the fact of the weekend felt firmly staked in the past, and it felt freeing to drive home without looking back.

Waiting at the airport in front of the escalator down which Doug would later descend, I was nervous. Maybe even a bit twitchy. I tried to hide it, but I'm not sure how well I did, so Lauren and I passed the time making stupid jokes about the other passengers floating down to our floor. Not very nice, but a tension-breaker. None of it was mean; mostly it was the juvenile, "Oh, there he is," and pointing to a rotund bearded man or nine-year old picking his nose, or of course the young enlisted kid in his official sailor's flares and a cap. I was pumping with jittery adrenaline and had to burn it somewhere, because I didn't want Doug to detect that -- we both were so determined that things should go well. In that sense it almost felt like those weekends of yore when we'd see each other every three months and feel the need to construct a perfect mini-break.

Once he finally did arrive, there were hugs all around and some basic small-talk, and the expected tension never really materialized. Lauren and I had coordinated a little bit beforehand, and she agreed that she'd be the one to set out the pillow and the comforter so that he could sleep on the couch -- figuring it would be too much of a statement coming from me, even though he already knew that's where he'd be.

Thanksgiving was a day of repressing instincts. Doug and I had the day to ourselves, hanging out with football on and cooking. He cleaned out the turkey, I made the cake and the potatoes and everything that needed early prep, and all that time in the kitchen or on the couch was an extended exercise in quashing impulses. Every time I'd pass him, I'd mentally prepare to reach out and touch him, hug him, smack him on the ass, or squeeze his hand, because that's what we always would do. When we sat on the couch, my legs would instinctively want to stretch out across his lap, but I had to stop them. All day, it was about reaching out and pulling back, either physically or in my head. Not because I ached to be doing those things, but because they're so ingrained in what it means to be Doug and Heather that I had to remind myself that we're redefining everything. Again.

The meal went really, really well. I was delighted. The turkey cooked to a beautiful brown on the Weber, and was juicy inside. I stuffed it with sausage stuffing that's my Dad's recipe, although that process was a little ooky. When I looked at the bird and realized I had to pull back a huge flap of cold, wrinkly neck skin and shove the stuffing up into a body cavity that frankly looked a little creepy, I turned to Doug and said, "Am I really going to have to put my hand in there?" He grinned. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you are," he said. "Bastard," I winced. But I got it in there, and packed it tight, and sealed it up before throwing the bird on the grill. The Stove Top stuffing mercifully involved fewer carcasses. But the potatoes, the corn, the onions, the cranberry sauce, the cake, and the turkey and stuffings were really tasty -- it was a perfect day of everything coming together.

Well, except for when it became apparent that none of us knew how to carve a turkey. The buck -- in the form of a large knife and fork -- got passed around from person to person until everyone decided I should do it, as the primary chef. I glared mightily at everyone, but my fatal evil eye wasn't functioning properly, so I stabbed the thing with my carving fork and proceeded to cut. And cut. "Try cutting a leg off first," Lauren suggested. "How do I get through bone? I can't," I panicked. "Just pull it off," Doug said. So we yanked and tugged at the wing and the leg, and they weren't budging. "Maybe if we get some leverage," Carrie suggested. But no.

This is when I started to get mad at the bird. We gave it a lovely final sendoff on a toasty coal barbecue, and it repaid us by being stubborn. I was thisclose to putting my foot on the damn thing to hold it down while we yanked on the wing, but fortunately, Doug chose that moment to carry it back into the kitchen so he could attack it with some dignity-protecting privacy.

From there, it was all food and all wine, and great company. Doug was brilliant -- easygoing, friendly, fun, not awkward in the least -- and it felt as much like a family Thanksgiving as any, so next year hopefully the extended brood in LA can get together and we'll do it up in even grander style.

Just as long as I'm not carving the bird.

On Friday, we hit the road for San Francisco, and that's when things got a little less comfortable. It wasn't bad, but once we were around more people -- his sisters, his cousin, etc. -- it became easier for Doug to avoid me when he felt like it, and so sometimes he did. I don't blame him for that. There were a couple glances where I'd catch him looking a bit sadly at me, or kind of confused as to what he should do or how he should act, but for the most part he either was cool with me or just sort of slipped away into another conversation.

And I guess that's what we'll be from now on -- slipping away into other things, drifting back to chat like old friends but never staying. And that's okay. I knew that would be how this ended. It was odd to see it in action, to watch it unfold like a preview, but it felt right, too. I imagined spending the weekend under his arm, and it wouldn't have worked. There would be hugs, but with them, worry. We'd have shared a bed but nothing would've happened. It would've been empty, emptier even than the feeling that comes with knowing something's truly over and done.

All credit goes to Doug, because that couldn't have been easy. I know he's gone about his life and is getting over me, and that it'll be a much easier task than he thinks, but he could've made that a horrid visit and instead there was a lot of love there -- from his family to me, me to them, and even Doug and I to each other. It was just a different kind of love, and it felt a lot more real than what I'd been trying to force these past few months. So as hard as it was, the outcome I chose was a good one. The right one.

And yet, it seemed such a relief to have the weekend come to a close, and I think it's because there was just enough of an element of sadness and finality hanging in the air that it was good to drive away, leaving it back there, hopefully never breathing it again. We're into the next phase now, and it's got to be a happier one, and I was just anxious to be there and not waiting for it to start.

Someone got here by searching for: Woodpecker cider + Vegas Watching: The Billboard Music Awards, purely by accident, I promise. But they were awful. Reading: Lots of columns about how USC got hosed by the BCS, and I'm sick of hearing about it. Yes, they did get screwed. But no system is perfect, so I opt for the BCS -- which lets fans of 7-5 teams still see their teams play in a holiday season bowl game -- rather than a playoff system, or a system like the one of yore where the national champion was determined solely on the basis of human emotion and opinion. That is all.

Cooking + wine + ex boyfriend = Yikes.

Thanksgiving must be some kind of cosmic magnet for dysfunction.

Around this time of year, it feels like everyone cracks open the family annals and whips out a story, or three, of complete disarray due to the combustible cocktail of squabbling relatives and malfunctioning ovens. Turkeys don't defrost. Dads drop them. Dogs eat them. Mom gets distracted and leaves a giblet floating in the gravy, so baby Katie starts screaming and drooling mucus into her mashed potatoes, which she subsequently grinds into the Oriental rug. Uncle Joe gets loaded and tries to carve the turkey with Aunt Edna's false teeth -- without having removed them from her maw first. By far one of the most entertaining aspects of the holiday is hearing or reading about people's epic Thanksgiving Day disasters, because there seems to be no shortage of them.

This is going to be a jinx. I can feel it already. But so far, I'm one of the few people I know who doesn't have a holiday horror story.

Quite possibly, it's because we never had extended-family Thanksgivings, which saved us a lot of the grief associated with that kind of baggage. Nobody came to England in November just to eat a turkey with us, so it was always just me, my two sisters, and my parents, often flanked by our other family friends from the States who were living overseas. By the time we moved back to the U.S., we were out of the loop of making Thanksgiving a time for the brood to reunite, and besides, a chunk of it lived in New Zealand and everyone else was scattered across the country. And in college, I most often tagged along to my roommates' Thanksgivings, because I was the orphan whose parents lived outside driving distance. If there was weird tension, I was oblivious.

Not to mention that I was never cooking any of the meal.

This year, though, has the potential to be either awesome or a train wreck. I doubt it'll fall in between.

First, I'm cooking, which is exciting and terrifying. I always get hostess anxiety when I'm making food for people, as if they'll suddenly stop liking me the second anything comes out less than perfect. And while I wouldn't blame Carrie for storming out of the house in the face of a slightly runny Red Velvet Cake, because we take dessert very seriously in our circle of friends, I also know that it's highly unlikely Carrie would do that because she was brought up right and she's a lovely person. Also, runny Red Velvet Cake is still edible Red Velvet Cake.

I'll be grilling a turkey, with help, because I refuse to get within ten feet of the little baggie of doom that comes tucked inside the bird. In fact, until about three or four years ago, when I happened to be standing next to my father as he prepped the Christmas turkey, I had no idea that the neck and innards came with the thing. I had no idea that the way you make proper gravy is to throw said innards into a pot, partly because I don't eat gravy, but mostly because when my mother serves it, it's store-bought, because she is sane, because hello, turkey neck-and-goo juice sounds ten different kinds of sick.

Also, I'll be making all the other trappings, but for pie -- instead, I'm doing the aforementioned Red Velvet Cake, just for a different flourish. Lauren and Carrie will have just returned from gorging themselves on apple, pecan, and pumpkin pies anyway, and Doug will just have to cope with a pieless holiday.

Yes, I said Doug.

The major potential strain is that Doug will be here. He'd planned to come here back in October, when we first realized he and his sister had a bevy of tickets to the Notre Dame-Stanford game, played in Palo Alto on Saturday. Excitedly we bagged two for us and one for Lauren, and he bought his ticket so that he'd spent Thanksgiving with us and we'd all drive up to San Francisco together on Friday.

It's possible I could have waited and not let everything go down until after his last visit, but that seemed dishonest, and frankly, more problematic and destructive than just being honest right away and worrying about logistics later. After our first weekend of not talking, I gently brought up the fact that our Thanksgiving plan concerned me, given that he wasn't even emotionally stable enough to instant-message me without choking up, and we weren't able to talk comfortably. He couldn't even look at anything I'd bought him. How could he look at me?

I was worried he'd tear up when he realized he'd be sleeping on the couch. I got scared that he'd take one look at me and be like, "I can't do this," but be stuck in Los Angeles on a major holiday when he could've been with his sister. I offered to pay for whatever ticket changes he needed to make in order to be with her on Thanksgiving instead of in Los Angeles, explaining that I was not trying to push him away and disinvite him, but rather I was concerned that it wasn't a healthy idea for him to show up on my doorstep a mere two weeks after being disabused of his fancy that we'd be sleeping together until the end of time.

Doug insisted he'd be fine. He seemed to miss the point a bit, swearing rather defensively that he didn't have ulterior motives for still wanting to come, and that he just wanted to prove that we could get back on track as friends no matter what else went on between us. It seemed to me a little soon after the faux-breakup to do this, but he was adamant, and even got a bit miffed at me for levelly admitting that my reservations stemmed from the fact that, were I in his position, I'd change my holiday plans and go somewhere a little less painful.

After that torturous but mercifully brief debate, Doug won, and he's coming. He'll be here tonight, and I have no clue which Doug to expect -- the one who's sunny and delightful and just likes hanging around us, or the one I broke up with a year and a half ago who was surly and miserable and got off on silently letting me know he wished he was anywhere else. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, because I know that by and large he isn't that Doug any more. But I also know that what he's feeling is intense and hard to control, and thereby uncomfortably unpredictable.

I wish I already knew the outcome, so that I'd know how to feel right now. If I knew, for instance, that the weekend was going to be a complete success, I'd be eagerly anticipating his arrival and starting to get really excited about a road trip, a football game, and a weekend away. But I can't seem to get there yet, because also don't know if the weekend is going to be a disaster.

Whenever I get nervous, I try to remind myself that Doug's one of my best friends, and that no matter what else is going on in our lives, neither of us wants to jeopardize that. I'm sure he'll be on his best behavior because he'll be conscious of proving that we can hang out and be normal, and I won't be uncomfortable as long as he doesn't seem uncomfortable. Maybe the whole thing will work out.

Regardless, I resolve not to complain. I guess this is my version of the pressure-filled family holiday, the one with undercurrents and tensions that seem unbearable and dreadful at the time but which elicit big laughs in retrospect, once you distance yourself from the dumb stuff and just remind yourself gratefully that to surround yourself with loved ones, even those you love but don't always like, is a blessing. Being able to spend Thanksgiving with any family at all -- real or surrogate -- is a pretty special situation, and it's worth lugging the baggage.

Someone got here by searching for: Toll House cookies television commercial Working: Until 6 a.m. Yes, 6 a.m. So that's why you're writing this entry instead of doing actual work. Bingo. Not that I need an excuse to slack off, but hey, when I have one, it's a bonus.

Michael Jackson and Lauren: Partners In Freedom... Or at least, partners in this entry.

Given his appearance in our national headlines this week, I've had nothing but Michael Jackson songs running through my head.

Specifically, I've been humming the obscure oldie "Farewell, My Summer Love" all morning, and I suppose it's apt, except for the "my," "summer," and "love" parts. Because I'm guessing we won't be seeing much of Mr. Jackson except for in hastily taken shots of him being hustled in and out of courtrooms. And that's only if he doesn't decide to say farewell to the U.S. and flee. I hear Roman Polanski has a very comfortable basement that needs a tenant.

There's not much to be said that hasn't been already, either online or at water coolers around the country. It's tragic how monumentally messed up Michael Jackson is; whether the allegations are true or not, his past statements prove he's got a limited ability to determine right from really creepy, because his family horrifically stunted his mental growth.

If this is true, it begs one very big question: What the HELL were this kid's parents thinking? Unless they were until recently living atop a remote mountain with nothing but leaves as loincloths, they must have known Michael Jackson is considered Very, Very Weird About Children. Guilty of improper sexual conduct or not, he's been charged before, engineered a swift, rich settlement, and admits to sleeping in the same bed as his child "friends," claiming that he doesn't understand why people can't platonically share a bed because it's "the most loving thing people can do." Precisely the point, Michael.

So how did it come to be that this kid's parents let him inside Neverland's gates? Are they mental? The guy dangles babies from balconies as a joke, and doesn't understand the big deal when he's roasted for it. The man stood up for Liza Minnelli and David Gest, for suckwipe's sake. What more proof do you need that his judgment is impaired?

It must be that some parents just think he's a little lost child himself, harmless and damaged. But even so, it seems to scream trouble. He wears a face kerchief, he's made of plastic, his nose bone is showing through his skin, he wears eyeliner and caked-on stage makeup every day, he has two kids named Prince Michael, his baby machine Debbie Rowe never breathes free air, he just wants little people to come over and play, he owns monkeys, he's broke, his career is over, he looks like a walking, talking Halloween costume, and he has a well-documented obsession with grabbing his own crotch and thrusting. Sure! Red rover, red rover, bend -- er, send Joey right over.

This entry was going to begin, "I'm typing this on my brand-new computer," but I decided I didn't want to devirginize it that way.

Instead, let's make the natural segue from Michael Jackson to Lauren.

A year ago, Lauren was trying to put the debacle of the cowboy behind her, but it wasn't meant to be: Her doctor told her she probably had herpes, and her life changed.

It's been a hell of an up and down year for her. She had to cope with being diagnosed with an incurable STD, and everything that might mean for her future interactions with guys. She endured blinding, searing agony for the first two weeks. She was stuck with the memory of and a lifelong link to the non-self-aware asshole who gave it to her. She questioned both her future and the choices she'd made in the past. She valiantly tried to laugh off the pall that having herpes cast over her thoughts.

We tried to help her, but there's only so much you can do. Ultimately, it comes to her. She's the one who has to tell people, including the guys she wants to date, and face the fear that his reaction will wound her. She's the one who has to take the pills and see the doctors and live with the symptoms. She's the one who has to be brave.

And she is. She's one of the bravest people I know. She went through the roller coaster with dignity and grace, and came out of it incredibly strong. I'm not sure I could have coped with it so well. If she caught herself mired in pity, she accepted that emotion, didn't berate herself for having it, and then pulled herself out of it. She's turned the cowboy into someone she can laugh about, rather than feel bitterness. She's become comfortable again in her own skin. And now, she's told a guy who wanted to hook up with her anyway, which is one of the most difficult first steps to take.

Lauren deserves an immense amount of credit for the way she's handled this, right down to writing about it so frankly in her journal. She's never apologized for her feelings, or censored them. She's been determined to disassociate the disease from its societal stigma. It's not a dirty thing common only to those who sleep around; rather, one in four people in the U.S. have it, including a 26-year old girl who got betrayed by someone she trusted. It's out there, and she's got it, and she's never been afraid to talk about it because she knows there are people out there who might need to hear that they're not alone. And that they can live with it. A lot of those people reached out to her when she first found out she tested positive, and she's embraced the chance to do the same.

She's been fearless in the face of something scary and uncertain and foreign, and she's one of the people I admire and respect most in this world.

Happy Birthday, Lauren. Here's to continuing to move forward.

Someone got here by searching for: skin denting and "man with boobs" Reading/Writing: The latest Drunky But Funky entry about Lauren's birthday weekend. Watching: 24 and The Bachelor.