It's early Monday morning and I'm waiting at a corner for a light to change.

"Can you help me cross the street?" an older woman standing next to me asks. She's in her 70s and has a cane with her. "Of course,"I say to her, extending my arm.

The light changes and we start to cross the street. "So," she says, smiling at me, "are you into older women?"

I look at her a bit confused. "Um," is all I can manage to think of. "I think maybe you're a bit out of my..." I gesture vaguely with my free arm, searching for the word.

"Are you saying you wouldn't like to be an older woman's darling?" she asks.

"Tell you what," I say, "I'll think about it."

Confession: My favorite book is The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank.

I'm not going to try and balance that by talking about my love of monster truck rallies, or telling you about how far I can "hock a loogie." No, I just love The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing. But really, if you've read it, how could you not?

My best friend is getting married. Her wedding is only two weeks away, and I still don't have a dress to wear. In desperation, I decide to go to Loehman's in the Bronx. My friend Donna offers to come with me, saying she needs a bathing suit, but I know a mercy mission when I see one.

"It might be easier if you were bringing a date," Donna says in the car, on the Major Deegan Expressway. "But maybe you'll be meet somebody."

When I don't answer, she says, "Who was the last guy you felt like you could bring to a wedding?"

I know she's not asking a question so much as trying to broach the subject of my unsocial life. But I say, "That French guy I went out with."

"I forgot about him," she says. "What was his name again?"

"Fuckface," I say.

NaBloPoMo starts Thursday. You remember NaBloPoMo from when I did it last year, don't you?

National Blog Posting Month is when a writer has to post every day for the entire month of November. Which sounds fun, in theory, but by the 15th the ideas can run pretty dry.

I'm hesitant to even write before Thursday, because I'm afraid of wasting any ideas now that I could be able to store away in my cheeks, like a squirrel storing nuts for winter.

...I think I'm just going to leave you with the mental image of me stuffing blog ideas into my cheeks.

This year for Halloween (at least, for the party I went to last night), I was Magnum P.I.

Is it me, or do I almost make too good of a Magnum?

Byron and I are going to a Halloween party later tonight. This morning, as we're sitting in a coffee shop, Byron asks, "So, where's the party at?"

I respond, "Um, I believe the correct question is: Where's the Bacardi at?"

It's true.

So I've got exciting news. I would say it ranks somewhere in between "I'm running for president" and "I found a random $10 in my jacket pocket this morning." But I can't tell you just yet. The news is set to break November 1st, so hold your horses.

In the meantime, I'm changing the way my comments are set up. Under the new system the comments will be housed within Movable Type, the whiz-bang program I use to publish my blog, rather than Haloscan, the program I'm using now. This way, comments are kinda built into the entries, so wherever the entry goes, the comment goes. ...I know how some of you are still hurting from the comment loss when I switched my blog over from Blogger to Movable Type about a year ago. My condolences.

So comment freely, knowing they'll be around for the long haul.

Sometimes I troll the "web/info design" ads on Craigslist where established business are looking for web designers. They have names like VerveLife and The Falkor Group. They offer benefits like medical, dental, and a 401K. I have all the qualifications that they're looking for, and everything they're offering sounds great. It's just that I'm doing that on my own.

And, sure, I like running my own business. But sometimes it would be nice not to have to worry about every little detail. Sometimes I'd just like to show up to work, do some stuff, collect a paycheck every other week and steal pens from the supply closet.

Sometimes I worry that all the little things are going to get to me and I'm not going to be able to handle running a business.

To quote Rob Gordon, who owned his own record store:

"Sometimes I'm afraid I'll go berserk, throw the country A through K rack out on the street and go work in a Virgin megastore and never come back."

I really hope this doesn't become a regular feature.

Headlines that were featured on the cover of Details magazine, leading me to cancel my subscription out of disgust:

-Are You a Rapist? You Might Be
-Why So Many New Dads Cheat on Their Wives
-Is Your New Baby Making You Gay?
-Why So Many Young Men Kill Their Wives
-How to Dump Your Girlfriend with a Lap Dance

And I thought I had issues.

So I've been blogging for almost 6 years. Did you know that?

I've written over 1000 posts. That's a good handful of posts.

And lately I feel like I'm running out of things to say. Like when Seinfeld ended his show because he felt like if he went on any longer it just wouldn't be as good. That Seinfeld was a smart guy.

I'm starting to think that my blog quality is suffering and maybe I should stop. Or at least take a hiatus.

We'll see.

Man, oh man. Reading a story, it's hard to come across a worse line than this:

"Orange flowers covered the multi-purpose driveway."

The multi-purpose driveway?

Call me old-fashion, but I only use my driveway for parking.

Bernadette has a kind of shorthand that she uses. If she likes something, "Loves." If she dislikes something, "Hates." And if she agrees, "Totes."

A conversation could go:

Me: What do you think of that sofa?
Bern: Loves. You?
Me: Totes.

So it struck both of us particularly funny that on Monday, in the RedEye crossword, the clue for 26 across was "Lugs." And the answer? "Totes."

The other night Bernadette and I went out for a drink at a local bar. It's small, it's dark and the drinks are very, very cheap.

A few minutes after we sit down a woman comes and sits down next to us. She's alone, wearing a bright pink shawl, and looks horribly out of place. Bern and I continue talking but I can't help but notice she's ordered white wine from a place where I'd be hesitant to drink without using a straw. She also seems to be in a hurry to dial everyone she knows on her cell. "I'm getting shitcanned!" she repeatedly yells into her phone, taking another sip of her white wine (chardonnay, no?), and flipping her bright pink shawl over her shoulder.

"She's a winner," I inform Bern. "Loves it," Bern replies.

They say:

"Charitably-minded web designer needed -- creative, fun, good times!"

I read:

"We're not actually willing to spend any money on a web designer. But we still want you to work hard."

It's true.

Names I have previously given to the wireless internet network I set up in my home:

-Headquarters
-Three Guys from Greece
-Steven's Last Night in Town
-Shoes
-Two Brothers from Italy
-Like, Zoinks
-Steal This Signal

I'm thinking of changing it again. Suggestions?

So Byron and I, with our habit for starting new projects, have now started a design blog. We cal it Design Under Inspection (or D.U.I.). We showcase artists, designers, great gift ideas, and fun housewares.

So the next time you think, "We should replace that painting your mother gave us with something nice", or "Uh oh! What am I going to get Judy for her birthday?" you can just head over to D.U.I. and get some ideas.

Don't worry, despite the name there's no breathalyzer test.