I am in Belfast! Now I just need to be awake for a few more hours to try to combat the dreaded jet lag.

You know, you just don't see enough headlines about being stabbed with a samurai sword.

During the Olympics Women's Ice Hockey Gold Final, I was on a conference call with Canadians while exchanging tweets with a Canadian friend who was on a conference call with Americans.

I hope the Canadians gloated politely.

Our interwebs have been slow with everyone watching online.

Meanwhile, at the Drama Llama Lounge, the regular patrons are quietly sipping their drinks.

I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something hugely important. Like pants. (Note, I'm wearing a dress, so I am not, in fact, wearing pants, but). As if I'm going to show up in the entirely wrong city today, or something. I don't know what this freaky feeling is about.

If your life were a tv commercial this would mean that you forgot to close your front door and a bear is currently ransacking your fridge.

I am oddly dissatisfied waking up on a day with no birthday. I think I don't like it. Can't it be birthday every day?

The neighbors are rebuilding their wall. The wall that the owner and his brother laid out with levels and sight lines and string and possibly astrolabes and calipers and things. Dead level. Our wall follows the slope of the street, which is definitely not the line of the house foundation, but hey. Imperfection is an art, right? Celebration of it is a necessary joy.

But see, the new wife isn't happy with level. She wants it *more* level. So her hubby and her son are taking the wall apart and rebuilding it. So far I haven't seen an astrolabe, but they may bring out the six-foot mason's level before they're done.

My life, so exciting.

Well, this meeting just got better. Everyone's phones went off on an Amber Alert and then my friend got a call from her husband. Her BFF was just carjacked. Jebus.

Yikes, brenda! I hope he's ok.

Beverly, I feel similarly with my day-after-Christmas birthday. Like, everyone else wakes up disappointed, but I get an extra celebration.

But see, the new wife isn't happy with level. She wants it *more* level.

How more level can you get than dead level? There is none more level. Levels do not go up to 11.

Criminy, brenda. Good thoughts for your friend's friend.

I hope the Canadians gloated politely.

My Canadian did not. I am now vocally hoping for the U.S. men to kick Canuck butt in the semis. (No offense to Canadians here.)

Hey, I bet against the Canadian Men in my hockey pool. I figured there was no way Putin would let them win gold. In seems that it's the Finns who should now fear for their health and safety.