Bye Bye, Pie!

A post about my cats. Surprise!

I've been waiting to tell you this until it was for sure going well, but Anderson Cooper doesn't live here anymore.

I know!

Marvin was saying that he was going to get another cat, because Henry was sad and meowing and bored, and he was even considering licking Henry himself, because that's what Winston used to do. I suggested this might be crossing the I-heart-cats threshold.

I thought about it and offered him Anderson. I thought if I got kittens, they'd grow up okay around dogs, and certainly that's been the case with Roger, who splays on top of the dogs to sleep, and leaps up onto Edsel's head and stays there just for yucks and so forth. But Anderson was always scared of them, and whenever he walked across the room, the stupid dogs would chase his delicate self.

You always found Anderson hunkered up high on something.

"I think he'd be happier with just a cat friend," I said. "I LOVE Anderson!" said Marvin.

Can I just tell you that when I met Marvin he was unfamiliar with cats, and all awkward around them, and I consider it a personal victory that I have turned him into a cat-loving girly man?

Anyway, Marvin got him over a week ago and I am happy to report that Anderson is so happy. He and Henry are playing and running around and Anderson gets to actually run across the floor and there was only one hiss out of Henry initially.

I didn't mean to put this picture in, but you can see how deeply concerned Roger is about losing a brother.

Here's the picture I meant to put in. I will miss my little gay cat. But I think I did the right thing by him. "I'll try not to lose this one," Marvin said.

While we're on the subject of my cats, and hi, Hulk, we have a winnah! in the photo caption contest.

"rodger in junk drawer. rodger wish he still had junk. in his drawers."

Yes, Faithful Reader Funny in my Mind was funny outside of her mind. Send me your address, FIMM! You get the yodeling pickle! Christmas has come early.

An honorary pickle goes to the disqualified-before-the-contest-began Paula, because we all knew she'd be effing hilarious. She came up with about 47 captions, including:

"Oh, Miss Gardens, thank you for coming in. I have the results of your cat scan right here."

"I hate this desk job."

"Do these drawers make me look fat?"

"Man. Pete Campbell's office IS cramped." (That's only funny if you like Mad Men, WHICH YOU SHOULD.)

"NOBODY puts Roger in a drawer."

Paula. Killing all of us since whenever the hell she found this blog.

I must go, but before I do, let's start the good deeds thing. Because I don't still have your photo project to do and a statistics textbook deadline and this house doesn't look like Sanford & Son's house or anything.

Every year I like to do this on my blog to make myself break out in hives--too late! But it's a nice thing to do and we all end up liking it, except for Jan and Steve.

We pair up with each other cyberly and do good deeds for December. So all you have to do is write in the comments: "I'm in!" and then I will at a later date (maybe Friday?) pair you up with your good-deeds partner. So please be "in" by Wednesday at midnight.

And the good deed should be generally free or very low-cost. Open the door for someone whose arms are full of packages. Put quarters in all the parking meters down a street. Anonymously leave cookies for your old-lady neighbor. Whatever. Nothing huge, nothing fussy. Just come back here before Christmas and let us know in the comments what your good deed is, and your partner will return the favor with a good deed of his or her own.

Who is in?

June torments Tall Boy and has a giveaway (No, I am not giving away Tall Boy) (That would be funny, though)

Last night, I had Thai food with the Tall Boy. Who is delighted to have her phone back, do you think?

Anyway, Tall Boy is a vegetarian, and I wish I could be one because I love me the animals but also they are so darn delicious. My point is, it seems like it must be a pain in the arse to be a vegetarian. "I'll have the spring rolls, but without shrimp."

"You want chicken in the spring roll?"

"No! NO! Not chicken. Just no shrimp."

It's like the whole world is a meat obstacle course. Anyway, my cashew chicken came, because I'm sensitive that way (I asked if he'd mind if I had them kill it right at the table) and Tall Boy said, "What's that on your plate? Is that a big mushroom? It looks good."

"That is a piece of CHICKEN," I said. "Would you like to try it?"

"Yeah. I really do. I am meat-curious," said Tall Boy, with the enthusiasm of Kristen Stewart.

My point is, because he did not help me eat it, I had leftovers, so I put them in Tall Boy's refrigerator, where I have never looked before. It was a monumental night. I saw Tall Boy's fridge.

Is it just me, or is this a tidy refrigerator? I mean, for a boy. The little stacks of Tupperware, how the butter is right next to the bread. I don't know. Maybe it IS just me.

Look how the garlic sit in their own slot. It's disturbing, yet kind of reassuring. Maybe I am just used to slobbeldy Marvin, who would have the milk way back so you have to knock everything else over to get it, and the garlic would be rotting on the counter. That's what I'm used to.

At any rate, who was completely over me and my cell phone by the night's end? "Oooo! Can I take a picture of this? You want to see this app?" I am a fun date.  Really in the moment.

In other news, I got a gift yesterday from Faithful Reader Texas Kari. She felt bad because she told me she was the woman who looked at me on OK Cupid, which lead me to send said woman a rather forward message, when in fact Texas Kari was lying through her Texan teeth.

But look! Here's Topol, the smoker's tooth polish! Do you remember that commercial? What is wrong with me? Compile a list.

What I WANTED to say was, look! Look how cute her little package was, with the tissue and lace and the little tag. Am so stealing this idea.

(It was because she had a cute package that I tried to pick her up on OK Cupid. Whooooo-hahhhh!)

"edzul not like dis ideeya. not madogga."

She sent me vintage Christmas kitty pillowcases!!!!!!

Who better to receive such a thing? Hmmm? WHO BETTER? Love them. Thanks, Texas Kari. And it all worked out. That woman on OK Cupid and I have had a few dates and am working up nerve to kiss her. (It was actually another faithful reader who looked at me that day. She emailed me on OK Cupid to tell me. In case anyone wonders, she and I have 84% compatibility on OK Cupid and we really should give things a try.) (Apparently I am meat-curious today, too.)

I must go, as I am in statistics-book-proofreading hell, which explains why I went gallivanting around to Thai restaurants all night, but before I go, we are gonna have a little contest here at Bye Bye, Pie.

Whoever comes up with the best caption for this wins a yodeling pickle. You must think of it by midnight tonight--whenever that is for you. I'm just saying when I get up tomorrow time is up.

Should we just disqualify Paula H&B right away, because she is funnier than all of us put together?

I know you do not want to miss out on winning THIS. I wish my pickles wore leiderhosen. What gives? Also, my pickles are more whiskey connoisseurs.

Here is the photo again.

It's just like Reader's Digest or something, isn't it? Good luck! Good luck winning that yodeling pickle, which I won't take 700 years to finally send you or anything.

Shallow superficial June

I have so much to tell you I could spit up. Fortunately, I have no real plans to spit up.

So obviously yesterday I felt bad. Bad bad bad. One of my coworkers said to me, "Your face when I first saw you walk in the door? Has haunted me. Do you need to go out and get a big giant drink with me or something?"

I love my coworkers. I really do. I didn't even TELL y'all about going out with them Friday night. But I have too much to tell you to get off on that tangent. (Someone got an espresso martini and it looked DELICIOUS. She was an awake drunk.)

At any rate, there I was, feeling sad about he-who-must-not-be-mentioned, and having a big cloud over me, and thinking dramatic thoughts. Am I the only one who breaks up with someone and gets the dramatic thoughts? "I will NEVER love ANYONE this much AGAIN! I will NEVER find ANYONE like that EVER. This was it. He was the ONNNNNE for meeeeee! Even though he made me miserable! Wooooooaaaahhhh is meeeee!"

Do you? Do you do this too? Please tell me this is not like how I am the only person whose mouth got numb eating grapefruit and I thought it was a universal experience but instead oops! I am allergic to grapefruit.

But guess what. Guess what happened. On Monday? When I told y'all about how things were not gonna work out after all with HWMNBM? I got an email. I mean, I got a lot of emails, from my real-life friends, and from all of y'all, and basically everyone was the bomb.

But this was a special email. It was from a woman who had briefly dated Daniel do-not-mention, and apparently he had told her about my blog. "I only dated him a bit, but I've been reading you ever since," she told me. She went on to tell me all sorts of encouraging things about how I am fabulous and lovely and the smartest, most desireable woman on planet Earth.

Perhaps she did not lay it on that thick. But it was implied. Because all that stuff is a given.

Anyway, I was touched that she wrote me, and we exchanged a few emails back and forth, and she said, "Honestly, I don't know why you don't go for The Fireman. He sounds wonderful."

"The Fireman IS wonderful," I wrote her. "Hey! Would YOU like to meet him?"

And that, folks, is how a woman who dated Daniel Boone got set up with The Fireman. I had corresponded with The Fireman this weekend anyway, so it's not like he didn't kn0w my heart had been shattered, so I told him the whole story about this woman and how he should totally meet her.

"I don't know whether to feel really liked or really rejected," said The Fireman, who has to analyze everything.

"Do not feel rejected," I told him. "Think of it like you are a really fabulous pair of shoes that I have, but unfortunately I am only into painful spikes right now, so I am loaning my fabulous shoes to someone else."

Even though The Fireman is really manly, fortunately you can give him analogies like that and he is cool with them.

I hope it works between them. You know how people say everyone comes into your life for a reason? And you know how everyone who says that is a real asshole? I am hoping that Fireman and this woman fall madly in love, so I can justify these four obsessive painful unrewarding months by saying DB and I met in order to fix those two up. NO PRESSURE, YOU TWO! YOU'RE ONLY GIVING MEANING TO AN OTHEWISE HORRID RELATIONSHIP!

Talk about your blog giveaway! The Fireman. The new inflatable meatloaf.

Okay, so that was good, and then I got home and got the news about Winston being missing, and I can't even think about it because if I do I will cry again and I am SICK OF CRYING and I hate myself and I love Winston so bad. Winnie was always my f-a-v-o-r-i-t-e. Don't tell anyone.

Right after Marvin called to tell me Winston was gone, I had to go on a date.

I KNOW.

Last week, after I declared my undying love for DB, which by the way feels like eleven hundred centuries ago, I got a Match message from someone. No one interesting has contacted me in months. I have gone on a few dates and they have all been eh. So literally 10 minutes after DB and I decide to become a thing, this guy contacts me and he was pretty interesting, and I was all, Wouldn't you know it and I closed down my Match account.

On Sunday, when it was evident things were not gonna work with DB, I wrote the guy back. Several funny emails resumed, despite my dark cloud and my tears and my dramatic thoughts.

He proposed we get together. "Have you ever been to Hillsborough? We could meet there."

I paused. Hillsborough is exactly where DB and I had our first date. Of all the gin joints...

"Okay," I said. "Sounds great." Yes. Let's meet there. That is where I met the man I will NEVER EVER GET OVER because I loooooove him and he is terrrrrrrible to me and I will Miss Havisham over him for the rest of tiiiimmmme. Sounds great!

I drove there last night with the news of Winston weighing on me, a migraine threatening, this work thing hanging over my head, and oh! When I turned on my GPS (I turned it on with my smile, just as I turn the world on), and typed in, "Take me to Hillsborough," it asked, "Do you want to go to Daniel Boone Drive?"

"NO! No I do NOT want to go to any Daniel Boone Drive. THANKS!" I snapped at it.

I parked in exactly the same spot I parked when I went on my date with DB, who we all said we weren't gonna mention and yet we still do and why must we obsess, and I walked over to the restaurant.

And there was my date, leaning against a lamppost, and he was so hot I could have melted into the sidewalk.

Hot. Seriously. He was hottie hot hot. Attractive, is what he was. And I liked what he had on. Sort of preppie fashionable. And I could tell he liked me. Because I had on my high-heeled boots that are sexy if one is attracted to Nazis and who isn't.

He does that nervous talking thing as I do. "I know on my profile I said I was a good listener, but really I just think I'm so funny that everyone should be hearing what I have to say. I'm a terrible listener," he said.

"Oh my god I'm exactly the SAME WAY!" I said, not listening.

Our food came, and even though I hadn't eaten in seven hours, I had three bites and was not hungry. Oh my god, I'm twitterpated, I realized. When I'm twiterpated over a boy I do not eat.

What kind of shallow superficial tramp gets twittered over a boy when she is in LOVE with another boy?

This shallow superficial tramp.

Oh we had the best time. Seriously! We laughed, we talked, we tormented the waiter. Finally it was time to go and he walked me to my car. It had started to rain, so we stood under an awning talking. And I am sorry to tell you that old in-love-no-one-will-replace-him June KISSED ON THE FIRST DATE.

Three times.

"So I'm thinking Sunday," New Boy said. Whose name is Tom, and when I asked what he wanted his name to be on my blog, he said, "How about Tom?"

"What Sunday?"

"Our next date. I'm being bold, here. I'm going out on a limb."

So June has a movie date on Sunday. We are going to a foreign movie to be pretentious. 

And even though I am sad and cloud-covered and cannot stand thinking about Winnie in the rain and hope I don't get fired about the work thing? 

That was one damn-ass fun date. 

Wow.

Giving and mostly getting

I want you all to dry your tears and carry on like adults, but Juice has won the inflatable toast. Last night before I went to bed, I ran the random number generator to see who'd win at that time? And it was Juice. Then today, when I had the official number of comments? Juice won again.

God has spoken, y'all. Plus, what goes better than toast and Juice?

And speaking of gifts and food, people have been feeding me lately.

Not that I have taken to eating dogs. And do you know what I like about this dog? Is her short, stumpy nose part. What nose? I cannot smell you.

A few weeks ago, I was heading into PetSmart, as I do 900 million times a week, and a faithful reader spotted me. She told me she knew we'd see each other one day, as she similarly goes to that PetSmart 900 million times a week, so there are the odds right there. Anyway, if you recall--as I mentioned this when it happened--I found out she had greyhounds and totally invited myself to her house, and Thursday is when I eventually wedged myself in the door and made her feed me lunch.

Snout? I gots no snout. What you mean? I a Pug.

So I met her short, fat, no-nosed greyhounds and as you can imagine was totally indifferent to them. Did you know greyhounds are really mellow dogs? And I'm sorry. That first sentence in this paragraph was sarcastic, and then I meant the part about them being mellow. Keep up. Greyhounds are good apartment dogs, believe it or not.

There is a greyhound rescue place, and Laura and I are going to it together soon. Shut up.

In other people-are-feeding-me news--

Oh, wait. My mother and my best friend always want to know what I HAD when I eat places. I am kind of indifferent to that part, preferring to concentrate on the pet part. Faithful Reader Laura had a delicious spread of fruits and vegetables (strawberries, carrots, etc.), then chicken salad, a cucumber and dill salad, another thing that was risotto-y but that wasn't what it was. What was it, Laura? I ate a ton of it. Oh, and peanut butter Whoopie Pies.

When she was washing the strawberries I told her and her kids (oh, did I forget to mention she has kids?) that I'd found a tiny worm on my strawberry the day before.

"I don't feel like eating anymore," said her six-year-old daughter.

June. Ruining the appetites of kids since 2011.

Okay, so in OTHER people-feeding-me-news, I am in a book club in real life, and there is literally a Jewish mother in my book club, who I will call W. She has a whole name, I promise. Anyway, she got very concerned about everything going on in my life and asked if, after Passover, she could come over with an entire dinner for me.

Like I was gonna say no to that.

So I got some snacks, which the dogs promptly stuck their stupid tongues in right in front of her, and W. brought me homemade chili, brown rice, a salad, and even a can of Pellegrino. Then there were homemade cookies for dessert!

W. stayed for over an hour, despite the part where Tallulah fell desperately in love with her and kept PAWING her and Edsel kept LEAPING on her and OVER her and licking her EAR and really I don't know why anyone comes over, ever. And does anyone recall that BOTH dogs have been to obedience training? Cesar needs to MOVE IN to my home. Is Cesar single now?

Anyway, we had the best time. Well. I had the best time. She was probably counting the minutes till she could reasonably leave. I watched her nice pants get furrier and furrier until she looked like Chewbaca by the time she left.

So I am remaining well-fed and I do not know how I luck out in the friends department. I must seem sort of sad and hungry, like Dondi.

When did comics ever cost twelve cents?

At any rate, I am going now. To return to my statistics textbook. Which I have spent more than 10 hours on already and have not proofread page one of yet. I know. Don't you wish your weekend was hot like mine?

Comment of the week goes to the Chief, because come on. The Mt. Rushmore of lesbians? Click on This Week's Special if you wish to see.

They should totally make a Mt. Rushmore of Lesbians in real life.

 

Snot fun to be me

Your old pal June is sick sick sick. Of course, you knew that.

I had Marvin get me a box of Puffs, which I want you to know is a luxury for me. Usually I just blow my nose on toilet paper, figuring kleenex is a treat for rich people. Anyway, Edsel took the box while I wasn't looking, pulled every last Puff out of the box, and tore it all into tiny shreds.

Why did Marvin insist we get a puppy, anyway?

Okay, getting up and typing has exhausted me, and I only got 13 hours of sleep last night, so goodbye. Don't forget tomorrow night is book bluc.

Book bluc. Who feels miserable? Who is dizzy and out of it? Book bluc.

Anyway, for more info on book bluc, click on Mince Words with June over there on the right. Or Thgir.

Oh, one more thing. Edsel the eater of Puffs has already grown out of his collar in one week, so does anyone need a 10"-14" red and blue doggie collar? We can do a little June-is-too-ill-to-blog-and-can't-even-spell-"club" giveaway today.

I will assign comment of the week tomorrow when I can form a thought.

Can anyone bring me more Puffs? We can form a little "Help Sick June" bluc.

And the check June picked was...

Oui, oui, mon chere. Crepe Suzette! Poodle! French toast.

Yes, I am fluent in French. Hence the French checks. And do you like how I cleverly painted over my name and account number? I am Fort Knox. But I'm French, so I'm Forte Knoxe.

So for those of you who guessed the French check, or cheque, you are correct.

And really? Puppies? Really? I mean, I know I like Tallulah and all, and I ask for a new puppy 6,385 times a day, but do I really seem like a PUPPY CHECK person to you? I never.

I did a random number pickerizer and the winner of the contest is Gra, which means I have to send a bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle to fricken Ireland. But I am happy to do it, Gra. This is the price you pay when you are so worldy, so welcome, like June is. Plus also, if I suck up to you enough you will invite me to visit and then I can just hop over to Paris from your house. That's easy to do, right?

So give me your address. I will also send you some nice Irish Spring. Because I know how the Irish enjoy them the Irish Spring.

My father really nailed it best, though. He emailed me and said, "I bet you picked the Eiffel Tower or else the gardening checks" and in fact I was IRKED when I went online to show you potential checks and saw that Marjoleen Bastien had garden checks, because I totally would have picked those. So dad was right. But he's not getting any tuxedo bacon puzzle.

He would never play with it, for one thing, and also he did not leave a comment. So he was not even up for selection by the random pickerizer.

Also, I do really love Bugs Bunny, and to prove it to you, here is a nine-second Porky Pig cartoon. Which I know is not Bugs, but I love the whole genre. Believe it or not this cartoon was actually shown in theaters, even though it has a shocking word in it.

Now that I have rocked your world with that, and you are crying in your morning beer over not winning the coveted bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle, I guess the only thing to do is tell you about my dessert night with Faithful Reader Laurie.

Faithful Reader Laurie, one of the 204850149 Lauries who comments on this blog, lives locally. We met at a party at The Nester's a few months back and since she has big hair, we bonded immediately.

Tonight we got up with each other, as they say here, and had us some desserts.

Do you think she is going to unlike me now because I said she has big hair? But look how she has pretty ringlet-y curls, whereas I always just had large puffs of frizz.

Here we are together, and do you like how I have managed to get my whole head in there, and just barely eeked hers in the corner, like a bug? Have I mentioned she is going to unlike me?

Laurie is a professional photographer, which is why she was drawn to my blog of course, and also she is a medical person. She does not specifically say on her blog what she does in the medical profession so I am not giving it away here, but suffice it to say I may hire her to just hang around me all the time.

After our hummingbird and cheesecake (yes, she got hummingbird cake. No, it was not made from real hummingbirds. I asked), we both had to go to the grocery store. I needed something for heartburn, and she needed toilet paper and plastic wrap.

God, we're glamorous.

So that was my night. Thank heavens I put on my bacon tuxedo, just in case.

June's blog. Where you come for the prizes that she never sends you.

I was just so NICELY napping on the couch, when someone had the nerve to stop with their DOGS, TWO of them, and let one of them poop on my lawn. The dog walker cleaned it up, but Tallulah had 47 fits about it and woke me up. She acts like she handles the lawn care at this establishment. When really all she does is leave her Kong on the lawn to get all buggy on the inside.

Obviously I am writing this on Wednesday night and I am going to publish this on Thursday a.m. Because I plan ahead that way. Don't you think "plan ahead" is redundant?

The most interesting thing that happened today is that I got my new checks. I opened a new checking account and the guy at the bank said, "You get free checks, unless of course you want pretty checks."

He said that with disdain, as if WHO in their RIGHT MIND would order pretty checks that you had to pay for when you could get free, boring checks.

"Yeah," I said. "Get me the book. I want to select the pretty checks."

So we are gonna have an exciting game here at Bye Bye, Pie. It's called How Well Do You Know June?

I am going to show you several types of pretty checks, and you guess which one I really got. Those who guess the right one will be in a drawing to win a delightful bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle.

This should delight the people who are still waiting for me to send their cupcake-flavored dental floss. And what else was I gonna send? And inflatable fruitcake? Do you like how I've gotten right on sending those?

Anyway, you know you want a jigsaw puzzle of someone wearing a bacon tuxedo. Who doesn't?

So here are the choices. Which check design would June choose? Hmmmm...

Would June Gardens pick a garden look?

What about puppy snickerdoodles? You know she likes her the puppies.

Eiffel Tower/Gay Paree images? I have an Eiffel Tower tattoo. I mean, June has an Eiffel Tower tattoo.

Bugs Bunny? I have shown you Bugs Bunny You Tube clips. Oh, I give up on speaking in third person.

How about girly roses? You know I like pink.

It's tough, isn't it? Hey, it's not easy to win a bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle. I can't just GIVE those away for NOTHING.

I would really like to get Marvin a bacon tuxedo. His niece's bat mitzvah is coming up next year. Perhaps we could emulate the outfits on this puzzle. How quickly will our invite get lost in the mail, do you think?

Okay. I look forward to your answers. You have until midnight Pacific time, Thursday, September 16 to guess.

Winner!

We have a winner in the shopping spree contest I announced on Friday. Congratulations to Shannon of The Shannon River. Not because she won. Let's just congratulate her.

No, no. She was our big winner. I picked her by going on a random number generator site. I didn't pick her because I like her better than you.

Perhaps AllModern.com will let us do another contest someday and you can try again. Because you know what Winston Churchill said. If at first you don't succeed in a blog contest...

Oh, and Marvin called the electric company today. The Electric Companeeeee, The Electric Companeeeee...

I'll stop. Anyway, they were home at 6:30 in the morning. How dreadful. But hoping to stop living like Mary Ingalls soon. Who needs those night-vision goggles like Jodi Foster had in Silence of the Lambs just to brush her teeth at night?

So, I'm giving away this diet book

A few months back, this promotional company asked if I'd read a diet book and review it, then give one away. They didn't offer me any money or anything but I said okay, sure. Because apparently I am affable like that.

Then the deadline for posting my review got moved, which is good because I was right in the middle of thinking I was dying of a brain tumor, and you certainly would have gotten an informative and fun review right there. "Go ahead and enjoy this book! I won't be around to watch you enjoy it, but..."

Anyway, I got the book, Dear God Let Me Lose Fat Amen (and I just noticed the cover doesn't have punctuation, so I didn't punctuate either), and it strikes me that it's less of a book and more of a handbook. It's paperback, and tall, and technically you could cut out each page and display it somewhere, because each page is its own little subject. (And each side is actually perforated, for your cutting pleasure.)

For example, page 17 tells you all about how calories are created. Page 37 lists little exercises you can do during the day, like running in place for six minutes, or doing push-ups against the wall for eight minutes. Page 31 reminds you that if you skip just three bites of a 1,000-calorie meal, you lose 150 calories right there.

And I guess the fact that this information on losing weight is given to the reader in increments is the point of this book. If you take this information one piece at a time, maybe it will sink in. And you really could maybe take the pages that resonated with you the most, and actually put them up somewhere, like on your mirror with a little scotch tape. Unless your family will make fun of you for that, in which case you need to get your own apartment, because if your family is making fun of you while you try to do something good for yourself, they can just live without you. Is what I say.

What I liked about this book is that it encourages losing weight very slowly, making tiny changes in your life. I mean, you're reading a person who ate a Sonic chili cheese dog today for lunch. Again. But it seems to me that making small changes is a lot more effective than trying to wake up one Monday and saying okay, that's it. Starting this week, no more dairy. Or something similarly dramatic. I mean, saying okay, today I will eat three fewer bites seems a lot more reasonable.

So, do you want this book? According to the back of it, it is a $25.99 value in the U.S. and it's worth like 4 million dollars in Canada. Why does everything cost so much more in Canada? Are people even overweight in Canada?

The company sent me one copy to read myself and one copy to give away, but I have to tell you I have paged through both because I kept misplacing them. I am the least organized person you have ever met in your life. But neither copy is dog-eared or anything, Felix Unger. Calm down.

Write in, if you want it, and I will let you know on Friday who gets it. I will also send you apartment rental info and some scotch tape.