well...

I hate it when I don't have a title. I hope you didn't miss the dramatic 4x200m swim relay last night. Wow, what a finish. Thorpe may win the amazingly-cute-even-though-he-could-be-my-son award, but the last and first touch was ours. Phelps got so excited his crack was hanging out of his suit.

Which brings me to the suits. Obviously I haven't been keeping up with this techno-suit thing. What's with the bodysuit stuff? They are stealing my last few good lustful years away. More skin, please. I mean...well? I'm only human.

Anyway, I actually had a dream about the cute Aussie Thorpe, but to show my age, we were competing in freakin' bake-off. How lame is that? My super-ego has a nun standing over it.

Good news from Zack Braff's blog today. Garden State is going to be opening up on 600 more screens. I really want to see this movie, so I'm hoping it will dribble down to our little art house soon.

In me, me, me-news, I'm just kind of moving forward but at a snail's pace. I hate these lulls in life where no matter how hard you pull or push yourself, there's The Grande Pace that will not surrender to your desires. So, I'm here, getting ready to do lunch at the job I "love" (insert hysterical laughter) and I shall knit while I eat and then I will work some more, have a meeting and go home. Then I'll think about my real life and what I want to do with it.

Everything will be okay.

Really.

Even with my hormones.

Even though we're broke.

If I dream about having a bake-off with an Olympic sex symbol, then, well, I still have my sense of humor.

Have a magnificent day. Seriously.