You know how most pharmacies have a little line people are supposed to wait behind so that the person being served has some privacy? And you know how most people seem to ignore it completely, hovering over you like a helicopter on Dr. Romano? Yeah, I hate that. It always makes me want to make something up that will freak them out and--with any luck--make them rethink their behavior. Possibilities include:

shuffling a bit, scratching my neck, and speaking to no one in particular: "That leprosy sure is a bitch."

with purpose, breathing hard, and speaking to the pharmacist: "I'm here to pick up my Hanta virus medication. Hurry, please. Hurry."

leaning forward, smiling broadly, and speaking to the person who is violating my personal space most egregiously: "Have you seen 28 Days Later? It's really good. I mean, I just related to so much of it, you know?"

head drooping, making every move as though it's grotesquely painful, and speaking to absolutely everyone: "They say bubonic plague is rarely fatal these days. Yeah, right. Tell that to my houseguests."

Thanks to everyone who posted or sent birthday wishes! It was an excellent birthday; Kelly and Ryan came over on Saturday night, so we hung out, drank miscellaneous beverages--Levitation Ale tastes good, but it doesn't work, dammit--and played some cards and some Grand Theft Auto. Grand Theft Auto is one of those games that sounds terrible in principle: so violent! So grossly violent! So gratuitously violent! And it is. Be that as it may, hand the controller to someone, even the most peace-loving person you know, and they'll soon be jacking a Hummer and mowing down pedestrians with glee. They'll probably even make happy little "boom" noises each time they hit someone.

On Sunday, Jeff made me Swedish pancakes with lingonberries and powdered sugar, bacon, and mimosas. I felt utterly spoiled. And despite the fact that I already had one present in the works, he surprised me with a new mouse. It is the best mouse ever, and I find it touching that Jeff was apparently listening when I cursed at my old mouse, picked the lint off its little wheels, and then cursed it some more, because dirty or clean, it was worthless.

I'm almost done with my Christmas shopping. What has happened to me?