I know, I know. Tumbleweeds are blowing through here lately. But you can go see my guest posts over on my friend Michael’s blog today and tomorrow. Read about our nutty college days full of naps and cigarettes.

So I’m doing Weight Watchers Online again, where there is a handy database of “Activity Points” to help you chart your exercise. I looked at the whole list the other day and it seems “ax chopping” is a legitimate workout activity. Also, um, “hoeing.”

And I’m going to get something done to my hair this afternoon. I’m not sure what but it’s going to involve color. I am usually all about highlights but the high has worn off somehow. My friend Richard, who does my hair, thinks I need a hit of something else.

“Do you want to whisper, talk or shout?” he asked me. That’s a hair metaphor, see. He went to Stylist Finishing School and everything.

“Um, talk, I guess,” I said. “But wait, what’s shout?” I guess I am going to find out today.

So I’d heard that three of the staff members from this magazine were in town and I decided to catch one of their bookstore appearances, but first I stopped to get lunch at a place down the street. And there I saw a group of women sitting at a table and caught snatches of their conversation and thought, I bet that’s them. I bet they’re from the magazine, but I wasn’t absolutely sure, so I didn’t approach them. Because, see, if you’re going to go up to a table full of women in a coffeehouse in Andersonville and say, “Excuse me, but you’re the BITCH ladies, aren’t you?” you damn well better be right.

It turns out I was right, but I kept quiet until I got to the bookstore. I met Lisa, Andi, and Marisa, who were very cool. I sang the Women’s Workout World jingle for them and they weren’t too frightened. And remember when Pamie told you to subscribe to Bitch and you figured you’d get around to it but then that show Paradise Hotel came on and it made you all distracted and stupid? Here’s another opportunity. Pass it on.

I have been on a bidness trip, people, at a corporate retreat in Texas. And there I stayed in an alarmingly faithful replica of The Alamo. I mean, I saw the name of the building and expected maybe some half-assed Spanish Mission shabby chic, but no: it looked just like the Alamo. Except probably the real Alamo doesn’t have cable.

Last time I was on a business trip I stayed at a bed & breakfast where the ceiling fell in, and I didn’t think I could top that in terms of More Excitement Than One Deserves To Have On A Non-Vacation, but sleeping in a room decorated with battle paintings and portraits of John Wayne sets the bar a little higher. I stayed in the James Butler Bonham Room, named for a Texas hero who was evidently the hottest guy to die at the Alamo. Wow!