God! This is the third morning in the past month that I've come out into the living room to find my roommate watching the director's commentary to 'Summer Catch.'

He tries to hide it, God bless him, but he just can't help the way he feels about that movie.

At least it isn't as bad as his Demi Moore web shrine.

Poor lad.

Normally, I find myself instantly opposed to that which the masses embrace, but there are a few things in this world that are so very popular for good reason that I just can't find the willpower to hate them properly. Ice blended mocha beverages? Yum, I reluctantly say. Girls kissing each other? Sign me up. The array of prison tattoos in Olde English font lovingly detailed on my lower abdomen? I've never regretted them.

Joining those ranks is the new literary sensation: Harry Potter and the Mystery of the Magical Mood Swings.

I loved the previous four books, and I love this one as well. It's been seeping into my thoughts. I spent some time reasoning out a plot twist and correctly predicted an event. Last night, I dreamed that Mrs. Weasley died in a car accident, and felt crushed.

I'm not going to give away any spoilers, of course, but I do have to question Rowling's wisdom in killing off Harry in the first chapter, as it hasn't made for much of a book since then.

Oh, this book is also part of the reason that I am currently a big blob of pink.

Over the weekend, swimming seemed a lovely idea. I scoped out the pool in my apartment building. It was empty, so I cheerfully changed into trunks and headed down, HP5 in tow. By the time I returned, a little boy was splashing about in the water. I'd wanted to swim a bit, and then quietly read in the sun, but I decided to make the most of it and play with the kid for a while.

We took turns playing a game in which one of us threw the ball in the air while the other jumped off the side of the pool and caught it before crashing into the water. Then I soaked the little bastard with a series of powerful cannon balls. Jonny came down eventually, and refereed two very loosely ruled games of pool volleyball, both of which the kid won.

I suspected cheating, and filed a formal complaint.

After a while, Jonny walked off. The kid asked me "Why is your dad leaving?"

Soon, I had the pool to myself. I settled in to a lounge chair, began to read, and quickly lost track of time. After a while, I felt a strange sensation. I realized that I felt quite hot. Looking up, I noticed the sun.

"Oh, right," were the actual words that my mind produced. "Sunburn."

Those words were quickly followed by "Eh, I've only been out for an hour or so. I'm sure I won't burn."

Cut to later that night, where I was drunkenly showing off my very pink belly to her, her, her, her, and him, all at Heather's going away party, the full shenanigans of which are detailed here.

At least, I think those are the people. I'm probably leaving some of them off and mixing up genders. Keeping that crowd straight is confusing enough (on so many levels), even when sober.

So, my Pinkosity wasn't as bad as last year...

...but we're working on it.

My Sunday was spent feeling very happy that I had indeed puked after all, eating nasty hangover-appropriate foods, and staying far, far away from all sources of light.

Oh, and I must once again remind you all of the presence of the Cherubic Michael B. Leave him notes, add him to your favorites, and send him love, as he is a good man, worthy of praise and acclaim.

For you see, the CMB is one of my fellow improvisers up at the IO, and on Sunday night, he saved me from hours of starvation by honoring my request to go down the street and grab me two slices of pizza, as I was unable to leave the theater at the time. He did not have to do this, but he did, and with good nature and a smiling face.

His selfless act resulted in a bizarre moment. When he came back and gave me my change and my food, I said "Uh, it would be kind of weird to tip you a dollar, wouldn't it?"

We settled on me owing him one.

Last night, I spent about an hour or so on the phone catching up with Sally. We'd been playing phone tag for at least the last two weeks. Like I'd said before, we've been doing a great job of remaining friends and staying involved in each other's lives, as much as two people can over the phone, anyway.

She made it onto a team at the IO in Chicago. She deserves it. She's good.

It's still, occasionally, weird to talk. For both of us, really. Whenever there's a couple week lull in our conversations, the "So, are you seeing anyone?" question makes an appearance, for some reason right at the end of the conversation, just before the buzzer. When one of us replies in the affirmative, the standard quiz follows: Where did you meet them? What do they do? Do I really want to know his/her name? No, really, do I?

At times, it can be really difficult to navigate this whole post-breakup friendship deal, but I think that both of us are committed to working it out. On my side, at least, for the first time in my life, I can't even imagine letting the phrase "Oh, we'll remain friends, definitely," being only something you might say instead of something you might actually want to do. It's tricky, here, but worth it.

She'll feel better when she finds that mythical Nice Jewish Boy, and later this week, she'll be on a date with a Bubbe approved gentleman.

Sally is also thinking of buying a condo next year, to which I replied that I would send her Yuppie Consumer Membership Card right away. I was then forced to admit the wisdom in condo ownership, especially given the current interest rates, at which point I then committed suicide.

True story.