Wow, I’m really good at this regular blogging thing, huh?

Throw in a bout of pneumonia, a bunch of deadlines and a trip to Boston to see my buddy up there, and I’m Queen AWOL of the Internets.

Allow me to catch up with a point-form extravaganza of sorts (though I am pretty sure I remain pointless):

I had a great time in Boston, although I’d like to address the fact that I spent 25% more on everything than all the Americans I was with because OF THE DAMN DOLLAR. Frick. Also? Some dude catcalled me when I was shoveling snow (yes, I shovel snow. No, I’m taken.) with the following witty opening line: “Nice to see a woman who knows her place!” I gave him the finger and shouted something back I would not say to my mother. He beamed. I think I am fitting in nicely, no?

I’m realizing that my fear of dentists is not pain-related. It’s bill-related.

Pneumonia appears to be gone, but I have a wicked cough and a ton of something in my sinuses that probably isn’t marzipan. So either I’m just transitioning into a new set of symptoms for the same ailment, or I have a follow-up cold. Which is so thorough of me.

I continue to be the person the crazy people want to talk to, in any public place. I am a Crazy Magnet. I am magnetically crazy?

I have decided that ballet flats need to become my new flip flop… though I am short enough that most people would recommend heels. “They’re slimming!” “Yeah, so are treadmills, but you can’t wear them to parties.” I’m sure Gradon wishes I would choose sexier shoe options, but hey… he likes Converse and lace-up Oxfords for HIS man feet, so why should I be a slave to the stiletto?

The skincare blog is headed for reality — we have our URL and our hosting, and I’m setting it up! Stay tuned for the big release!

I’m officially tired of three things to do with my hair: a) the ten gray hairs that sit at my temples, reminding me I am 34 and that my father went gray early (THANKS, DAD); b) the shortness of it that requires me to style it AND prevents me from ponytailing or curling it because the former won’t work and the latter makes me look like Shirley Temple crossed with a poodle, and c) the mild frizziness that somehow plagues me, even though my hair is SUPPOSED TO BE STRAIGHT.

I tried Marshmallow Fluff. It wasn’t as fluffy as I imagined it would be. But it was very marshmallow-y. And sticky. I got some on my eyebrow (don’t ask), and a pigeon got stuck on my face when I went for a walk.

Speaking of, pigeons in Boston are way less aggressive than Vancouver pigeons, and MUCH more sedentary. I actually nudged one out of the way with my shoe when he was blocking a woman trying to push her stroller down the sidewalk, and the fat little dude ROLLED like a donut out of the way. If I’d have done that in Vancouver? The pigeon would have eaten a) the baby b) my face and c) any passing vehicles.

Four things I longed to say in the midst of air travel but did not: 1. DON’T PUT YOUR SEAT ALL THE WAY BACK UNLESS YOU ARE IN EXECUTIVE CLASS, YOU JACKASS. I HAVE SHORT LEGS BUT I WILL NEED *SOME* ROOM. 2. Sir, your sandwich is so smelly that I feel as though I am trapped in someone’s armpit. And when I say someone, I mean someone who has not showered since the Carter administration. 3. THREE POTATO CHIPS ARE NOT WORTH 3 DOLLARS. 4. Your elbow is awfully pointy, Ma’am. I know you’re sleeping, but that’s my boob.

Coffee is still my IV of choice.

And how are YOU doing?