Ahem. Greetings…and apologies. I have no idea why I haven’t written anything for the past month. Sometimes it be that way, I suppose. Anyway, here I am, renewing my commitment to post on a semi-regular basis…furtively hoping my absence hasn’t drive away my entire audience. Such is life.

Have you ever had one of your habits held up before you as being weird or different, but you never would have known it was outside the norm if someone hadn’t told you? I recently went through this experience, though I’m more amused than scarred. Backstory: a friend of mine broke her arm pretty badly a few weeks ago—needed surgery with plates, pins, the whole enchilada. As her healing process progressed, we were talking about the ways in which she’s had to readjust her daily routine to compensate for the screwed up arm. She said the toughest thing was hooking her bra, and we had all sorts of laughs about the funny ways she might get around it (I keep advocating using tape and the wall, but she thinks that has more potential for disaster than the benefits could possibly justify…potato, potahto). Finally, I asked her what method she had settled on as the “way to hook a bra when you are physically incapacitated,” and she said she hooked it in front down around her waist and flipped it around. This gave me great pause, since that’s the way I’ve done it since my first bra in the eighth grade!!! Holy crap! I was dumbfounded (well, for a moment—it was followed by gales of laughter that nearly made me choke on my pasta) to find out that my way isn’t the way everyone does it. In the past, whenever I saw a woman on TV or in a movie hook it in back after putting her arms through the straps, I pshawed and said “No one really goes to all that awkward trouble—hook the dam thing where you can see it.” Wrong. I was apparently wrong beyond any shadow of recognition. Since this revelation, I have polled several of my female friends, and ALL of them hook their bra in back. So…I guess I’m weird. (Surprise! I’ll have to admit here that this was not, in fact, the critical piece of evidence to hit that point home…)

Alright…since I’ve been a big fat slacker for an entire month, here’s a list.

Things I Like:

• The new episodes of South Park. I stopped watching this show for a long time because I though they were getting a little stale with some of the plots. I think it was more a case of feeling a little restricted by their consciences, which is apparently no longer an issue as the episodes are more offensive than ever. The writers may be going to hell with one-way, non-stop tickets, but they make me laugh to the point to pain, so I’m for it.

• Crazy people. They make me feel ever so much more sane, and for that I am eternally grateful.

• Springtime in Houston. Though I’m sadly and acutely aware that this won’t last, and that it’s a slippery slope from this point to the hot-as-balls misery of a Houston summer, current weather conditions are exquisite. It’s one of the few things I really and truly like about living here.

Things I Don’t Like:

• This war. Just can’t get behind the whole violence thing—and the couple hundred civilian casualties to-date certainly confirms my disgust. I’m also extremely sick of people who support this war exacting such a strong invective against people who don’t. Is it really so difficult to comprehend that some of us just don’t support an action at a) has changed its thesis on a bi-weekly basis, b) has essentially rendered the efficacy of the UN Security Council to that of a spider plant, and c) continues to yield an increasing body count of CHILDREN?!? If someone can explain to me with any semblance of logic or reason how a child whose foot was just blown off by a U.S.-launched weapon is experiencing greater freedom than before? Didn’t think so.

• Orange juice. I can’t remember if I’ve said this before, and I don’t really feel like looking through my archive to find out. I made my mom pretty sad when I told her a few weeks ago that I don’t like orange juice—she realized that she has been offering me something I don’t like every time I have had breakfast at her house for pretty much my entire life. I guess it’s good that I came clean now, rather than twenty years down the road. This is another one of those elements of the American canon of stuff you should enjoy that I happen to not. Sorry folks, it’s right up there with The Beatles, Grease (musical or movie), and Rold Gold Pretzels.

• Eminem. Sorry, can’t buy the “genius” classification no matter how hard MTV wants to convince me. I’m not a fan of espousing hate in any medium, but I’m especially dismayed by the marketing machine behind this angry little man that has made his brand of hatred really, really popular with Youth of America. I know that by typing this, I am rocketing myself squarely into the realm of old people who shake their finger at those darn kids, but I don’t care. I think he brings ugliness to the world and it makes me kind of sad. I saw a special about Mr. Mathers on VH1 the other day (shut up—you do so watch it when there’s nothing else on) and in every shot he was always sullen, and often flipping off the camera. How. Original. How. Brilliant. I wish I had thought of such a rich and insightful way to express myself. Oy.

Sigh…not much of a list. I will put some decent though into one over the weekend and write something of substance on Monday. Promise. No, really.