Finally got my Lohan cover-issue of Playboy and I've got to give it to Lindsay, her boobs totally point in the same direction. Too bad her eyes don't.

Sorry for the bummer post left below for the holiday season. That was the day that I took my three-month fitness evaluation and learned that after attending the gym 40 times from Sept. 11 to Dec. 8th, I was actually two-percent fatter. I am the only person I know who goes to the gym “like a machine” (other people's words, not mine) and gets fatter for the effort. For real. I can run three miles in 36:30 and five miles in less time than it used to take me to run four, and I'm fatter.

All-in-all I guess things are going OK, with just enough annoyances to keep me from becoming too proud of myself. The Master Theorem is going on hiatus and I'm bummed, bummed, bummed, as it was a once-a-week assurance that I would use my brain for something. There's something very… turgid about answering The World's Most Obvious Questions day after day, hour after hour, sometimes minute after minute (BK's a repeat-requester, the one who asks me to do something while I'm doing that very something). I sent M, TMT's master of the game, a pathetic thank-you note that he probably found hilarious, because more and more I'm learning how funny my pathos is to other people, and as I believe that comedy exists to help to alleviate our –inherently human– fear of death, there's something rather apropos about the whole thing.

The good news is that even though we weren't there for Christmas Eve or Christmas morning, we have found a church, and the people are friendly and welcoming and we're enjoying the effort we put in. So far I've made salad and garlic bread for our shelter-ees one night and also brought a plate of our homemade cookies for their finger-food festival fellowship hour (that feels like it should be in capitals but I'm not going to change it). As I handed over the cookies the lady accepting them said, “Lynn, you get to take a bye for a week,” inferring an as-needed basis. Nice.

For those seeking closure on a few things I've written about:

1) “Hey Lynn, what happened with the guy who gave you your first kiss and then went on to commit your hometown's first murder in nearly 20 years?” [Ed. note: tragic photo accompanies article and the whole story's' a total bummer, which contributed to my downwardness before Christmas.]

2) “Played any ukulele lately?” (yeah, and the picture makes me look like a chinny dork, but also captions me with the wrong name, so it's fine.) My book is on the right.

Anyway, it's nearly the new year, and it's time for new heights and new goals and new things that not only let-but-encourage me to use my brain. Coming soon!

Some days are for running hard at the gym; other days are for crying in the changing room. Today was the latter.

Sorry for the lack of a birthday post prior to this. It was indeed an incredible day. Monstro bought me a spectacular piece of jewelry, I had two tequila shots at our family's Mexican lunch (one was free and came with a song and a sombrero. Olé!), and then Monstro, the boys, MFM (My Favorite Mother for those of you keeping track) and I went to the opening-day premiere of “The Muppets.” Words cannot express how much of an impact the Muppets had on my formative years, so for their new movie to premiere on my 40th birthday was kismet. After the movie we went home and then once the sitters arrived, Monstro took me to dinner at our new favorite restaurant, where the owner gave me the sweet-potato-pecan pie he was going to have on his Thanksgiving (he let me share it with every patron in the restaurant), and then we went to an Irish pub with a kickin' band (for old guys) and our next-door neighbors showed up and they played One Bourbon, One Shot, and One Beer, which made me curse Alex a little for being such an asshole and killing himself, and then we went home, and in the morning Monstro and I had furtive “don't let anyone know we're already awake” sex. Which, besides camping sex, is about my favorite kind of sex.

All in all, a spectacular ringing in of this new decade. Holla!

I'll be onstage at the new Cleveland Improv tomorrow night, Tuesday, Nov. 15. Doors open at 6, show starts at 7:30. The Improv's new location is 1148 Main Ave, next to Shooters on the river. If you and any friends you'd like to bring drop my name at the box office, you'll get in for a buck apiece. The headliner is Ryan Dalton, who just won the World Series of Comedy in Las Vegas, and the show will also feature the Seinfeld writer who wrote the hilarious episode, “The Pick” (“It was a scratch!”). I hope you can make it, and if you can, bring your pals.

I'm listening to MFM talk to her physical therapist and she is just spouting nonsense. The thing is, she thinks it's the truth.

Got my “thanks but no thanks” email from the Cleveland Comedy Festival today. Suckage. I'm not surprised — my video was less-than-professional grade (though it did start w/ the words “zit spooge,” which I figured could only help my cause), and of the featured performers on the festival's Web site, TWO are women. Out of 20. Yeah, because 10% of the population is women, right? Whatever. This has me determined to be as funny as possible on my next Tuesday foray at the Cleveland Improv.

Both boys have coughs so we're all home today. Tomorrow both boys have the day off from school, you know, because it's so convenient to vote with two children in tow. Monstro and I did manage to get nearly all the leaves out of our yard and onto our tree lawn so the leaf truck could suck them up. Good thing, too, because our leaf wall was starting to fence us in!

So today was the second Saturday of a three-Saturday stand-up comedy workshop. It's being led by the inimitable Dave Schwensen, who has more ties to the comedy industry than Barney Stinson has ties. This week was all about presenting an in-depth version of the work we shared last week. Let me tell you, even to run rough-draft stuff through on the Cleveland Improv stage is a frickin' blast and a half.

Last week I did some stuff about the town where we live now, and bees, and cell phones, and more bees.

“We want to know more about you, Lynn,” Dave said. “Like, why did you choose the city you live in?”

“Because my mom has mobility issues and this was the only house that suited her needs.”

“Well…” he trailed off.

So I wrote more about our town and then wrote some stuff about being a full-time caregiver, and then I fretted throughout most of the movie Monstro and I watched last night, because it was “Bridesmaids” and that shit just wasn't funny. I even called Dana on my way to today's workshop, opening with, “Well, I'm off to my comedy workshop to not be funny.”

And then I did my bit, and of course, the stuff about my town fell flat and they laughed, laughed, laughed at my caregiving stuff.

Comedy, you are a fickle bitch.

Monstro and I had a date night the other night and stumbled upon an AMAZING restaurant in our neighborhood: Opus Restaurant. If not for the $25 restaurant.com gift certificate I purchased for four bucks, we never would have stopped in, but I'm so glad we did because the drinks were stupendous and the food! Oh, the food! We became the first people to order “the tomahawk”, a 32-ounce bone-in wagyu beef cut that was so rich, it tasted almost like liver (but in a good way). Plus, there was a jazz combo that played the type of jazz that even Monstro likes. And the red velvet cake we had for dessert was delicious (though I think the sugar kept me awake far too late).

OK, time to go to the gym.