I remember when I first heard Erik play the guitar. We were sitting in the living room of his incredibly spacious flat in Belgravia, a few nights after we got together at the AOL staff party. By this point, half my toiletries were already in his oversized bathroom and I was mentally packing up my flat in West Hampstead and getting ready to move in.

He started playing ‘if we never meet again’ by Jules Shear and I sat and watched him and drank wine. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I know, it sounds a bit kumbayah-ish and maybe it was, but it beat sitting around at my place listening to my neighbour’s TV on at full blast or drinking Ernest & Julio Gallo with my sexually dysfunctional pretend-friend Stella.

That was over 9 years ago. Erik doesn’t pick up the guitar as much as he used to, but he did this afternoon and he played me the same song. He does know lots of other ones, but it was at my request. It was just a wonderful ‘take you back’ moment and it hit me with an overwhelming sense of love. And a bit of a hankering for that old flat.

I’m just off to skin and boil a rabbit.

Not really, but this was becoming a little nauseating. So tonight we’re going out to dinner, it’s a fancy one because we’re celebrating my birthday. Actually we’re celebrating my last two birthday’s, because I was too grumpy to do so on the actual day. I’ve starved myself for the last 3 hours in preparation. I’ll be wearing a dress. And possibly some make-up.

I’ve just started a new training program with a local group called CrossFit. I was doing the CrossFit bootcamp for a while, which was as much fun as working out at 5.30am can be. This program is in the new Crossfit gym and I’m one of the pioneers, which makes it sound more dramatic than just being one of the first people to pay the monthly fee and turn up 3 times a week.

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Driving back from my morning excursion to the park with my dog Storm, I was stopped at the lights at the intersection of 5th street and Lamar. Not sure why I’m writing in the style of court testimony, but I’ll cease now, or cessate. Which isn’t a proper word. The corner of 5th and Lamar is a popular location for homeless beggary types and sometimes attracts the more creative ones. Like the amputee holding the sign saying ‘Just need a leg-up’.

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Ran the 3M half marathon last Sunday. Just got the photos from the official photographer, who captured my race brilliantly.

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My nemesis, Maggie Gallant, is at it again. Today I got an email from a producer wanting to talk to me about my views on cowboy boots for a film she’s making. Apparently she had read my great quotes on cowboy boots in the Times last February.

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Spent the last couple of hours in the Book People cafe. I needed a change of scenery in which to procrastinate and surf websites instead of creating great new work. Just before I left, I watched a rather pathetic chat-up attempt.

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My talented animator/husband Erik finally made his decision and in June he’ll be dragging me kicking and screaming from Austin to Vancouver. Our faithful companion Storm will be forced to come with us too. Life is tough.

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Ran the Jinglebell 5k this morning. They didn’t play the national anthem before the race start because Santa isn’t necessarily American and it might have seemed a little jingoistic and we’ve got enough problems with that already.

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I was in a pretty crappy mood yesterday. It may have been my Thanksgiving carb hangover or the anticipation of my mediocre performances at CapCity last night, but I’m more inclined to blame Freddie Mercury’s death.

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Went to see ‘The Departed’ last night. Pretty decent movie and it certainly proved just how awful the Boston accent is. Watched it at the Alamo Drafthouse, the only movie theater I enjoy going to because they cut anyone that talks or otherwise disrupts the experience. You don’t have to get involved, you simply write the person’s name or location on a piece of paper, stick it in the holder and wait for the staff to come and collect it. It’s all very discreet. You can also order food or alcohol using this method, but it’s more fun to rat out other movie-goers.

I did show remarkable restraint towards the woman on my row who was apparently watching the movie Borat in her head. While I accept that a few moments in The Departed did warrant an ironic chuckle or two, her full force laughter was never appropriate, even when Martin Sheen died. But I still let her live.

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