Grampa has an unbelievable collection of books, much like the kind I hope to have one day. They're filed endlessly on shelves all about his place, and every book has a picture of a sculpture or some amazing country he knew once. The R train is apparently all messed up for the next three months so our commute to Bay Ridge was rather frustrating. But once we got there it was good times watching Spike TV with Grampa and eating that terrible yellow fried rice.

When we got back home, we slipped in our Goodfellas DVD and snuggled on the futon until two in the morning. I've decided it's completely unacceptable that I waited fourteen years to see this movie. I probably would've never understood any of it had I watched it in the fourth grade when it came out, but still. It's like waiting until you're 21 to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a crime among many that I am sadly guilty of.

I can admit them all now, I suppose, if someone had the time, energy or desire to hear me confess them. Let's see, I thought quails were fish up until pretty recently. I had an insane number of crushes growing up on guys that were considered cool, but now I find them on myspace and they're like Chris Grandy in 13 going on 30. I can't whistle. I let my high school boyfriend cheat on me eight times before I kicked him out of my life. Don't even get me started on all the songs I've written for assholes that never deserved it. The list is deathless, but I can't be ashamed. Loops told me the other day that Jagged Little Pill, possibly the most brilliant man-hating album of the twentieth century, was written for Dave Coulier, and I about shat myself. 30 million records for Uncle fucking Joey. This is like, front page worthy news. Are you guys seeing this? Don't make me say it twice like gangsters do.

My warm November was a long month of traveling and playing shows all up and down the left coast. San Diego was provocative and big-hearted, just like I imagined it would be. I stayed with Jamie who, amazing woman that she is, managed to balance me and a few hangovers somewhere into her hectic schedule of negotiating and writing papers. I caught up with Ate Din who took me shopping at this outlet mall so close to the border I could see the Mexican flag. In the late afternoons we had tea time and the best dessert ever at this place right around the corner from where she lived, and when the evening rolled around, we boozed it like champs.

Our hotel in LA was rad, and I really mean this. We cruised on Century Blvd. until we felt like we were in a whole 'nother place just to find it. We arrived sometime after midnight, conveniently enough to cross paths at the elevator with these girls that Ray says were hookers. The snacks in the vending machines were jailed in, and the walls inside our room seemed almost rotten with the stories it could tell. This left us intrigued more than bothered really. It had two cozy beds and a bathroom, and as far as we were concerned, that was everything we needed. But as far as shows go, I'd have to say this one took the cake. It always makes me nervous playing shows in unfamiliar cities, but the room I played was kind and laughed in all the right moments. Boulos and I bickered onstage in sort of a cute way, and we showed everyone there the songs we'd practiced for days. They seemed pleased. After the show, Ray and I joined some of his friends that came out, and we danced like glorious fools with our giant coronas.

San Francisco was beautiful as ever. Our cab driver to the show was a very funny man with slanty eyes. We all thought he was Chinese until he started talking all Mississippi-like. I sat in the back seat and videotaped him ranting and cracking jokes all the way to the venue. D always does an A+ job bringing people out. Two girls flew in from Hawaii to see the show and brought me caramacs. Tahni was all gorgeous and seventeen and her sister-esque mother was cool as all hell. Post-show, our party of five slammed sake at a sushi place near or in Nob Hill. Doan and I ate dessert first, just the way we like it. It wasn't really the same without Jack, but all in all, SF was quite the time.

I got home and stayed for just long enough to tidy up the place and host a pre-thanksgiving dinner for Aaron% and Justin. The next day we drove upstate to our favorite land of cute babies and delicious food aka Sue and DJ's house. Being around them is the best. They have a kid that never stops smiling, another that calls me her Bea and the littlest one falls asleep when I sway her and make this clicking noise with my mouth.

Now I'm home again, and December greets me tomorrow with promises of brisk weather and ice skating at Rockefeller Center. Maybe I'll drink hot thai tea on the colder nights and partake in a viewing of The Godfather Trilogy. 2006 is so near, and it's really about time for a new to do list. Way on top? Nooo, not Ryan Gosling or Terry Adams. Sorry boys, but I'll be too busy making something of 24, a lot like that Switchfoot song I love so much.

xo. only me, bea.