My room smells like greasy Thai food, and that is OK with me.

I seem to be in this contest with myself wherein I try to eat so much as to actually force food from my body in places from which it was not meant to be forced. This is evidenced by the enormous amount of calories I consumed within the last week, provided by Quizno's, frozen pizza, iced creams of various flavors and origins, and a humongous cheeseburger purchased from a seaside restaurant called The Shack.

When actual lard starts oozing from my pores, I shall no longer refer to myself as "foine."

I expect the greasy smell to dissipate soon.

Exercise and vegetables will soon be implemented.

In case you missed it, our last installment had our fair hero ask the bewitching Sally to move to Los Angeles with him, to which she replied "maybe, but not right now," to which he, in turn, replied "well, OK, that sucks, but I guess we should now both do what we have to do and see what happens later," which resulted in updates that were both sporadic and angsty, much to our collective dismay.

After a week of feeling blue and irritable, our fair hero finally felt that things were OK, he had truly accepted her decision, and reasoned that he would indeed continue to live despite it all, and then he was happy with the pleasant weather over the weekend, and eventually his desire to see this city and all its stupid freeways engulfed in nuclear hellfire abated.

Then the bewitching Sally seemed to be not OK with it all, which is understandable considering the largeness of the plan proposed and its consequences were the plan not accepted, and there was much talking.

There is no news, and nothing new decided, and no epiphanies had, and we are still not a couple, nor dating, nor using that goddamned 'L' word, and now she's really confused and doesn't know what to do or what she really wants, and basically: Oy fucking vey, the saga continues.

Breaking up is hard to do.

And hopefully that's all I'll say about that for a while.

Sorry for the brief interruption while my world was in turmoil last week.

In local news: If you go get a cheeseburger by yourself on a Friday night, you shouldn't park your car and attempt to get out while juggling your cell phone and other items lest you accidentally lock your keys in the car with the ignition running, the lights on, and two pints of Ben & Jerry's slowly spreading themselves out of their cartons, through a paper bag, and onto your passenger side seat. Luckily, AAA was there within fifteen minutes or so, turning the potential night ruining mishap into mere annoyance.

Then, I went and ordered my food from an unfairly cute girl at the counter who was wearing those low rise jeans and an extraordinarily small tank top, exposing much of her tan stomach to the elements and guaranteeing my repeat business.

When did tiny little potbellies on girls become sexy? Is this happening back east as well? Or is it a west coast thing?

This issue must be explored.

Speaking of girls, Cindy Crawford is in this weeks episode. I'm going to see her Thursday and Friday. Your little FadeIn and Cindy Crawford, together. Surreal, isn't it?

Ditka comes the following week.

I'm also told that I have to go get a Mustang convertible from a dealership and drop it off at the set. Yes. My life is terrible.

Then, at work, that Dewey kid from Malcolm in the Middle saw me in the hallway and waved at me for some reason.

He just wants to be loved.

The highlight of my day, though, was undoubtedly that the valley turned orange as sunlight was filtered through the gigantic cloud of smoke emanating from the brushfire on the mountain Glendale. I had to go over to Disney to deliver some stuff and do some paperwork, and I decided to play hooky for a little while as "their copier broke and it took me a really long time to do what I needed to do" and drive as close as I could to the fire.

I could actually see the individual flames as they crawled down the mountain. Every once in a while, the fire would get near an extremely flammable bush, and there was an explosion as the fire jumped a few feet down the hill. Helicopters and prop planes flew overhead in circles, dropping water and It looked as if there were an actual mushroom cloud coming off the mountain.

This was interesting to me, as we don't have mountains in Chicago. We certainly don't have flaming mountains. If we did have mountains, they would look down on us politely and not explode into flame.

The lowlight of my day just happened a moment ago: An email invitation to my ten year highschool reunion.

That was never supposed to happen.