Bring me my pipe and slippers, while you're at it.

Hey, how've you been? Haven't talked in awhile.

Between the 7 am catsitting sessions, lugging the laptop to Baby's house, and some particularly exciting television nights, posting has slipped of my radar. I'll fix, I promise.

I have an exciting story to tell you all but it requires weekend time. In the meantime, THONGS. Why? Very awkward things, thongs. I had to wear one the other day and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to pull nonexistant underwear out of my ass. Very uncomfortable with shorts. (Men, try strapping on a dance belt for a day and you'll see what I mean.) Call me a prude but I like the comfort of a knowing there's a little protective sheathing between my bum and my clothing, you know? Plus I see women all the time walking around with VTL (that's "visible thong lines" for those in the know) and it's just as stupid looking - if not more so, unless the ass is fantastic, which we all know it seldom is - as VPL. Any woman who says they love wearing them? Sadist. Run.

I've had Tom Jones' "Sex Bomb" going through my head for the last hour and a half. It was only fun for about a minute of that.

So some idiot tried to blow himself up here in NYC and suceeded... mostly. He blew his house up, that's for damn sure. Rule number one for misguided suicide attempts (especially one that, should you live, would leave you subject to some serious prosecution): GET IT RIGHT THE FIRST TIME.

Matt has one more week of work and then it's All House Husband, All The Time! I'm not saying that I'm expecting him to greet me at the door with a glass of wine in one hand a hot meal in the other... I'm just saying.