"Finish the fucking STORY!" I snarled. "What HAPPENED? What about the GLANDS?"

In re: my birfday, which was Sunday: I find it endlessly amusing how wired Mr. Gleemonex gets on the eensiest amounts of caffeine and/or sugar. I'll be on my third double espresso (several sugars per -- and I won't tell you exactly how many so you can't yell at me when I finally get the diabeetus), just barely swimming my way out of brain fog, and he'll have eaten, like, three M&Ms and be bouncing his knee under the table, blinking rapidly, getting the shakes, all "Sowhat'rewegonnadonextwhat'shappeningareyoufeelingthisIgottagoforarunorsomethingWHOA."

And I laaaaaugh and laugh. Hee. Such a caffeine lightweight, Shatner love 'im.

Tomorrow I'm gonna write about the little neigborhood meetup I was a part of on Monday, because that there is some prime suburbia nonsense and hilarity, but right now I gotta go tend to Danger Baby before he figures out how to hotwire his crib, fly it out the window, and take a few laps around the valley before spilling out on our lawn and getting up all Pee-Wee Herman style "I meant to do that."