As I've said before I make notes to myself before I write this thing. Normally just a word or two will jog my memory and remind me of the subject at hand.

Not today, though! I've written the word "Party" on my little piece of paper, and it means nothing to me. Nada. Zip. Nothing. I have no idea what I meant by that. Dammit. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

The dog has just curled up in a tight little ball in a pile of blankets on the couch. It is too precious.

So me and Sonya and Jen were camped out in the living room last night, watching our taped copy of Pimps Up, Ho's Down. One of the pimps is named Don "Magic" Juan. Technically a former pimp, he's now "Bishop" Don "Magic" Juan, a preacher who's written a book called From Pimpstick to Pulpit.

Anyway, at one part of this fine, educational documentary, the Bishop is at a gathering of pimps, and he constantly mispronounces the word "criteria."

"We've got to set the cwiteria for this contest," he says, "so that from now on people will know what it takes to be Mack of the Year. We get these cwiteria straight, and it'll all be good."

"Do you think he's never heard the word 'criteria' pronounced before?" I asked Jen.

"Maybe 'Cwiteria' is his son's name," Jen guessed.

We also got some takeout last night from TJ Mulligan's. Jen got a bowl of potato soup. This made for an interesting item on the receipt (shown, at right). The restaurant that starts offering this on the menu will do a fine business.

So I cleaned the front wing of the Williams Estate this morning while Sonya went off to the salon for a haircut, manicure and massage. When she returned I had two huge bags of garbage to send down the chute. I picked them up, and Sonya walked off in front of me, heading towards the front door.

How sweet, I thought, how kind of Sonya to open the door for me, since I'm carrying these two huge bags of garbage.

This train of thought was interrupted, of course, when Sonya stopped in front of me and opened a closet door, nearly breaking my nose.

"What...what...what?" I sputtered, backing away, "what are you doing?"

"Oh," Sonya said, unconcerned, "do you need by?"

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