Man, I have been bad about updating lately. Postpartum psychosis, what have you done to me?

Oh, right: I'd like to officially announce the new marketing tie-in between 'Tomb Raider' and the patch of dirt in front of my house. Bloody hell. Why doesn't Hollywood just go ahead and make a movie called 'The Coca-Cola Fueled Adventures of Nokia Cell Phone Jim and the Game Boy Posse'?

I spent a minute wondering whether or not that question mark should have been inside or outside the quote. Still not sure.

Sometimes I think so much about what I plan on writing in an entry that I can't quite remember if I actually wrote it or not. Ah. I just checked, and what I was about to write about, I've already written.

So, anyway, Sally comes back on Sunday, and to summarize my feelings: Thank fucking God. Why, oh, why didn't I go to England with her? She would have been busy with her conference for about two and a half days, so I would have been on my own. That was a small factor in my deciding not to go. Stupid. A larger factor, however, was money. If I would have gone, I likely would not have been able to pay my rent this month, so I guess it all works out in the end. Also, I guess my enjoying the fish and chips would have been hampered by the fact that this week I was destined to be afflicted with the Phlegm of Many Colors.

She just checked with her hotel, and apparently we've racked up over 90 pounds worth of phone calls. Fuck. I promised her that if her work doesn't pay for them, I'd split the calls with her. Double Plus Fuck.

Oh, and Sez, you are so right about Jimmy Fallon. Man, Morrissey was once my Hair Hero, but he has been usurped by Jimmy. Steven, I'm sorry, my friend, but the Prozac has not been kind to you. I was worried about you with Vauxhall, and then there was a drum solo on Southpaw Grammar. I mean, come the fuck on.

Turns out one of the Jewish weddings I went to last summer was attended by the missing intern Chandra Levy. Bizarro. Small world.