We stared down the aisle of jarred spaghetti sauces. "Well, if you don't mind my asking, what does squashing insects have to do with whether or not you cook dinner?" We exchanged looks—I, the look of blinding obviousness; he, the look of complete confusion—for a few moments before comprehension dawned.

"Oh. You mean squashing bugs in code. Ok, I get you now."

Ever heard the saying, "Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should"? Today's interaction with a grocery-store cashier brought this axiom to mind. Granted, I had plenty of time to think about it, given that it took her an exceedingly long period of time to ring up my order.

So, anyway. Enough boring retellings of my day. What weirdnesses did you encounter on your little blue planet today?

Hey, quit giving me that weird look. No matter how tiresome this entry is, it's far, far better than my recounting the fact that when I was picking out produce at the supermarket today, the muzak got switched over to the 'disco' feed. Nothing like picking out oranges and romaine lettuce to the disco beat of "Never Knew Love Like This Before."It's not that I live on my own little otherwise-uninhabited planet, see? It's just that this particular planet's silliness makes me want to hole up and write deadpan little love sonnets to it.

Think about it—what's our planet contributed to the galaxy? If a group of bored interstellar travellers were roaming around the galaxy, trying to figure out what planet to visit next, what would they come here to see? Go ahead, ask me:

"So why would bored interstellar travellers bother to come to Earth?"

By the time I returned from grocery shopping with Kat and Sean this afternoon, I was somewhere between light-headed and seriously low on blood sugar. A quick rummage in the fridge turned up real honest-to-goodness yogurt—the real kind, with fruit, sugar, and calories.

After I ate it, I settled down at my desk to fire off some emails. Jeff came in with a dinner idea, just as I was finishing giving Gareth the details he needed for a script I've been begging him to write for me. "Why not try the new Vietnamese place?" Jeff suggested. "Okay," I said. "Give me a sec, and let me finish giving Gareth the information he needs to write this script."

It was the first time I'd ventured out of the house since I'd gotten the news, the first time I'd managed to pull myself together enough to brave going out into public. Shock has a way of making you wanting to draw away from the world, to tuck your nose under your tail and shut your eyes until the storm passes—until you begin to suspect that the next time you open your eyes, the world you see isn't going to be the topsy-turvy one that kicked you in the gut a few minutes ago.

I put myself together carefully; after all, I had no idea who was going to see me. I made my socks match and clasped my hair into a neat twist. My shirt was clean, my jeans passably so, and about half a minute's soft pressure from a hot, wet washcloth made the circles under my eyes a little less noticeable.

Some days, it's just difficult to make up your mind. Go to the Christmas bazaar with a friend, or attend a screening of Hedwig and the Angry Inch?

Me: Hrm…..I'm feeling damned indecisive today. *laugh* I'm sitting here knowing I should make up my mind…but find myself thinking….'mmm, nap, sunshine.'Kat: *laughing* Okay, then I'll make up your mind for you. Amy, you're going to [the for-charity Christmas bazaar]. You will leave the house at 1pm and head over here and we'll go into town together.

Amy: From my spouse: "I think you have your answer, Amy." OK.

Even I, dear readers, can occasionally take a hint. Therefore I showed up, Amy-style.