Well, that's a weekend burned to the ground.

That's not entirely true. Sonya got her nails done, and we went to her parent's house and gave them their birthday presents, and yesterday I went to my mom's house and visited with the family and played catch with my niece.

We were playing catch with a heavy rubber ball - a dog toy, if truth be told. At one point, my niece went way back and threw one hard and high up. I got under it but missed the catch. The ball plowed into the pierced nipple. I yelped like a kicked puppy. The pain was incredible.

But Friday night I had to work late. So there's Friday night, shot dead. Last night I ran the sound from the TV through our stereo; the high point of the evening was watching Aliens in full, booming Cameron-produced sound.

Today we were even less active, if that's possible. We laid around the house all day, eating and watching the football. It was disgusting, but strangely pleasant after a somewhat hectic week and last week's non-stop weekend.

Of course we're broke, too. It's not like we had a choice about not doing anything.

Tomorrow, I begin training for the the Turkey Trot, a four-miler on Thanksgiving morning. I've been a huge slug, running-wise, during the entire month of October. November will be better.

I went grocery shopping Thursday night. For the record, I have been eating a big fuckin' bushel of salad since I went off the meat and quit the peanut butter.

So what's up with the X-Files' schedule, huh? Is Chris Carter so powerful that he can say, "oh, no, we can't have a season premiere in late September or early October like everyone else. We must have our season premiere in November, even though there are no circumstances dictating we do so and we don't make any more episodes than the other shows. We're special!"

The dog woke me up around nine this morning for a walk, so since I was up I turned on the TV and caught The Avengers - the movie from last year, not the TV show. Yes, it was fairly stupid, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the savage reviews it got last year indicated. As far as whiz-bang summer blockbusters go, it was pretty much par for the course. And that Uma Thurman! Woo-woo!

Since my life has been so non-spectator worthy lately, I'll tell you another, more entertaining story from my past.

I suppose it was Labor Day weekend, 1995. Sonya and I had gone to New Orleans to hang out and see the Saints play (they lost, 24-22, to San Francisco in a nail-biter. It was a great game).

We were wandering around in the French Quarter Sunday night. Southern Decadence was going on, so we were watching the festivities from the front step of Marie Laveau's voodoo shop, just drinking a beer and taking it all in. Sonya asks me if I'll go get her a Coke from the Lucky Dog vendor across the street. I tell her sure and walk on over.

So I'm at the Lucky Dog vendor, waiting for my Coke. A guy walks up in combat boots, a black leather kilt and way too much eye make-up. He's got wild blond hair, sticking up in all directions.

He leans in close to me to be heard over the pounding dance music coming out of the clubs all around us.

"Are you having fun, sweetheart?" he says.

I assure him that I am.

"Well, have a good time!" he says happily. Then he started to walk away.

But he gave me a good goose on the ass before he left.

"You're popular," Sonya observed as I walked back across the street, carrying her drink and looking bemused.

Quip of the Month for October: When me and Sonya and David and Shawn went to the drive-in the other night Bats was playing on the screen next to the one we were watching. We were all chatting while we waited for the Picture Show to begin when I noticed the Lou Diamond Phillips was starring in the other feature.

"Look, it's Lou Diamond Phillips!" I told my friends, "he'll use his amazing ability to marry a lesbian to fight the bats!"

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