Hopes Fulfilled

Not even a week into the new year and already one of my wishes has come true; rabid media obsession. Having watched all 6 seasons of Peep Show within a 5-day span, the man revealed that he had uncovered movies and an entire other series starring my new boyfriend Robert Webb (sorry, Jack Black, you're out), and I just about had a stroke.



In further rolling-over-of-the-yearness

My new ambition this year is to stop being a hedgehog and force myself to uncurl, even if it means being jabbed in the underbelly by the sharp finger of love. Step 1: trick myself into falling back into school-girl-type love with the man, instead of just the comfortable limb-type love one grows into after 13 years. According to a new self-help book I have flipped through, this can be accomplished by adrenaline-producing activity within close proximity to the intended object d'affection, causing the brain to associate the hapless bystander with crazed excitement. Activities like sky-diving, or rolling a hobo. Neither of which I can do with a man who has fallen down the stairs and is limping around howling like a big ginger wookie. Maybe I can threaten him with a meat hammer to the knee to get things going.

Gossip-ish

"It's called 'misinformation'," Officer Cleanshaven said, tapping his nose at the wary teenagers loitering outside. He came in and crouched down to eye level to whisper across the desk with me about breaks in the Case of the Grievous Graffiti, and I did my usual cop-induced transmogrification into Happy Cat, unburdening every rumor and suspicion I had heard rumbling around the library for the past week pertaining to the vandalism. He gratified me by making scandalized noises and a little dance of excitement before running out to follow the new leads. Felt like fast-living C.I. in a crime drama. Spent the rest of the afternoon scanning barcodes. Oh, well.