(Flashing on "cute" "striking" handsome" conversation.)

Hec, sweetie, you have issues. But then, many of us subscribe.

My weekend plans are up in the air now. I think I just bribed someone into letting me stay with them on the grounds that I am cute and amusing. I'm cute and amusing, right?

You are, Cass.

I keep trying to tuck my hair behind my ear, then realizing there is no hair there to tuck.

Huzzah for umfriends!

Palmeiro hit number 3000. I'm totally impressed with the fans in Seattle. That was a very classy response.

So jealous of Susan, her DH and Annabel right now.

Fay didn't get a chance to hook up with my sister Jeannie when she was in Cairo, and my sister came back married.

Cause and effect? I dunno. You be the judge.

Meanwhile...

When chips are down, they play the Clinton card

Okay, Sin City? Frank Miller has got ISSUES, baby. And here's the weird thing -- while I found the graphic novels to be utterly disturbing in their level of violence, seeing those same scenes in live-action just took them right over the top into utter, utter absurdity. I ended up snickering/giggling/donkey laughing through most of it.

Oh, the boy, you ask? Was it a date? I'm not sure. Maybe. The theater we went to has Hitchhiker's Guide playing right now, and when I saw the sign for it, I commented that I hadn't seen it, but wanted to.

So later, when I took Boy home (I drove, being a totally liberated control freak), and as he was getting out of the car and saying goodnight, he asked, "So do you want to see Hitchhiker's Guide, maybe next week?"

So -- I'ma just call tonight a maybe-date for now. No kiss, which is not that big of a deal but still weird, for reasons I'm not going to elaborate on right now (and sorry -- I know that's unfair, to make a vague statement like that, but for now, embrace the vagueness). No kiss, but plans to go out again -- so....maybe-date. Huh.

Hee.

Praise all gods, they're keeping Hubby till Sunday. I don't have to spend tomorrow fretting over a man with surgical wounds lying in the house all alone and can instead focus on my quest to get within touching distance of Billy Idol.

Hubby's doctor was going to release him tomorrow because he's recuperating so well, but the standard length of stay would be till Sunday, considering all the work that got done. Doc is always impressed with Hubby's drive to get back on his feet. Doc had initially thought Hubby was being a wimp for insisting that the pain was bad enough to have the surgery now instead of holding off for a few more months. However, when Doc got in there and saw the damage, he said, "You shouldn't have been able to walk around as much as you were. You essentially had a broken back." Trust my Hubby, Doc. When the World's Most Stubborn Man says, "It's too much, fix it," then we're obviously into the terrain of "Average men are begging for a bullet to the head to put them out of their misery."

Steph, that is weird. The no-kiss thing, that is.

Hec, we took pictures. And after the baby is bathed, I'll upload, but my hair is too dark and shiny to deal well with the flash, curse it.

It's the fact that it has NO PRODUCT in it and was dried with the car's vents that impresses me about my hair as it is right now. I forget, when it's weighed down by length, how much hair I have.

Back from game. When Palmeiro goes into the Hall of Fame in a few years, we'll be able to tell Annabel she was there for his 3,000th hit. Very cool, though the game sucked otherwise.