I'll admit life seems to have become more stable for me. I can walk up the stairs on my own, and I haven't seen the gray box place in a very long time. One would think life would be pretty good. And it was. Until he came.

He comes over. A lot. And then he takes the lady. For HOURS.

Sometimes he stays over. They sit on the couch and watch the glowing box that makes noises. I like sitting on the couch so I jump up with them. But my lady likes to sit really close to him, and if I try and get that close too, they kick me off the couch. Sometimes they even throw me outside. I don't even have to go poop or pee, but there I am, outside.

Sure this guy tries to bribe me with baseballs and things, which is nice. But this is just becoming too much. doesn't he know that she is my lady?

look at this sexy little guy. It can access the Internet anyway anywhere. The full keyboard and mouse officially put the spank on i-pods and i-phones and silly little handheld devices. It is cute, and cheap and almost as functional as a notebook. The perfect thing for the writer on the go who also happens to enjoy wasting time on the Internet.

But the best part is, I feel like a giant when I use one. I just walk around the house holding it in my hands and shouting, "I am so large. Look how tiny this computer is in comparison to me!" And then I usually howl or growl or something. I feel very powerful.

So... I'm a little embarrassed. We had such a good thing going. I had nearly 2000 hits, cumulatively from at least four people. I was mostly witty. You were mildly charmed. Then I messed it all up. I got worried and nervous. Some people my snidely say that I had a fear of commitment.

In short. I know it has been months. I am sorry.

Meanwhile I have been thinking quite hard about one thing: toothpaste.

I have had a lot of experience with this toothpaste thing because apparently, Jarvis thinks it is the best food around.

When buying toothpaste, I find it is absolutely necessary to buy a different toothpaste everytime my dog eats my old one. You may be thinking this is merely my fear of commitment rearing its indecisive head. You wold be wrong. For some reason a new toothpaste always works better than one you have been using for a while. I find this is always the case. the first time you un screw that cap and lather up, it's like going to the dentist.

The great thing is, you don't even need to buy millions of different kinds, as long as you alternate, too would work just fine.

So yes it has been awhile and frankly, I have no excuse. So instead of excuses I'll give you some updates and then maybe we'll go out for coffee.

The job hopping continues. I'm no longer working for Allstate. There wasn't ever a problem with Allstate; I recommend them as an employer to anyone any time in fact. But, I got an opportunity to take a job where I get less pay, no benefits and have to stand on my feet 8 hours at a time. Have I mentioned how famous I am for sound financial decisions?

Actually though, it's a job at a used bookstore. If you are from town, you know the one and it is fantastic. All of the drawbacks of this job are made up for and then some by the simple fact I get to touch books all day. It's like a fetish come true for me.

I even have my own rooms that I am in charged of shelving incoming books and keeping nice and tidy. For the most part, they are not incredibly interesting topics in my room. I'm not a huge fan of non-fiction, and all my rooms are is history books and the hard sciences. But there are a few notable exceptions that keep me entertained while I work: Sex, the history of, Ghost section, and all new age wackiness. The other day, I found a book by The Christ. It wasn't signed though, I checked.

I also have the parenting section. Oddly enough, it is next to the sex section. After shelving the parenting section for the last few weeks, I've noticed something. We don't give teenagers enough credit. Every single book about how to cope with raising a teenager treats the subject much like a dog training book. You have to show authority in order for them to respect you. They will rebel with ridiculous fashion statements, don't worry this is just a phase and with proper training they can be house broken.

Now granted, it has been more than a couple years now since I was a teenager, but I am still closer to 19 than I am to 30, so I think I remember a little bit of the time period.

Yes I was young. Yes I did stupid things. Maybe I was over emotion. But I was also a person by then. I was forming my own thoughts. I was influenced by everything around me, yes my friends, but also books I read and even the politics of the time. And I wasn't even exceptional in this. The tv we watch and the books trying to help us related continue to talk down to these teens. It is no wonder they don't respect anyone. They are going through a fantastic time, when they can finally decide things for themselves because they finally understand things for themselves. And us, stupid adults that we are, insist on thinking of them as a particularly difficult form of child.

Today I went to get my hair cut. I don't like spending a lot of money on things I could technically do myself with a pair of scissors and a mirror, so I don't typically go to what you would call high end establishments.

You hear a lot of girls say they don't want to end up looking stupid, so they are willing to pay for the expertise. This is a good point, and well taken, but I think they have failed to consider that the money they spend on hair could very easily go toward comic books. Yes. I see you understand my point.

That said, everytime I walk into a supercuts or a style america I get the same feeling. I look around at all the generic styling products lining the wall, take in the two men getting the exact same half inch shave and wonder: have I stumbled into a barber shop? Do they even know how to cut a woman's hair here?

Then I get nervous and start looking around, trying to find any other female client in the building. If I don't see one, and this happens often, I contemplated striking a line through my name on the sign in sheet and booking it. But by that time, one of the stylists ( I use this term only because I can't think of a better one, they aren't, after all, barbers) has made eye contact and it is my turn.

At this point my palms are sweating. I have to explain the hair cut I want, dreading that blank expression that inevitably follows.

"You want layers? But you still want to wear a pony tail? This does not compute." I always expect them to over heat and explode at that point, and I would then be free to leave, but instead they pull out very sharp looking scissors and dig in.

This time was much more pleasant however. The woman who cut my hair knew exactly what I was talking about, she even told me the fancy hair dresser term for what I wanted done to my bangs: "angling."

So I am pretty satisfied. And all for under 15 bucks.