The Irishman is making it up to me: He says we're hitting the road by 5:30, headed for the lakeshore north of the city. We're going to check out beaches and parks, pick up some dinner, and just generally relax together. It's a delicious thought. I don't even care if we get stuck in traffic.

Egads, get a load of me, all dreamy-like over some man. From that last paragraph no one would ever guess what a cynical, embittered, hardened, sarcastic wench I really am.

Hey, for my birthday I gave myself a dark denim jacket. I was so surprised! And--bonus--a leopard-print velour camisole! I'm so good to me!

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