It was another nice mutual birthday. Remember, it was Sally's birthday yesterday, too. The cheesier people in the world seem to believe it's some kind of sign or great miracle that two people who are dating share the same birthday.

Sorry, true believers. It's merely cute. And convenient.

She bought me the 2001 guide to writer's markets, which she knew I wanted and also knew I would never buy for myself. She's great like that. I bought her a garnet charm necklace, which looks incredible on her and matches the garnet earrings I bought her for Christmas. Guys, if you've got yourself a sweet gal with dark hair and pale skin, garnet is the way to go, believe you me.

I also wanted to get her the DIY Guide to Anti-Depression, but, unfortunately, none of the hipster comic/zine stores of Chicago had it in stock. I wanted to get it for her because she says I'm always reminding her to do the "little things", and the book is like that too, being as it's full of happiness tips such as "drink coffee!" and "take walks!"

Regular readers know that morning coffee and unrepentant jumping around to The Pixies makes me 6 am's Deepak Chopra, so I think there's probably some wisdom in that there book.

And, you know, I could go on and reflect on officially being a year closer to thirty rather than twenty. I could lament that yesterday, I did not get my wish to meet the man behind the name Barnaby Olson. I could even recount the strange dream I had last night , which, like my last strange dream, took place in a small town move theater.

Instead, I'm all hung up about how last night's cute blond waitress obviously thought Sally was much more attractive than me. For Sal, she was all smiles and giggles. When she was dealing with me, it was like she was making a withdrawl at an ATM.

On the walk home:

Sally: You're going to be masturbating about this for a week, aren't you?

Bill: (jokingly) Oh, like you won't be.

Sally: I would have thought you'd be happy about this.

Bill: Who says I'm not?

And so forth.

Tip of the day: Beer + 30 wings + yellow cake = morning unpleasantness for one and all. Ah, but baking a yellow cake does much to make your apartment smell a lot less like cigarettes. Tomorrow: tips for making your whites whiter and other household hints.