Ali and I had made tentative plans for Monday, so I called her Sunday night to see if she was still up for hanging out. She emailed me at about 4 a.m. "I just got home. I don't expect to be waking up early tomorrow, but I was thinking of going to see "Before Sunset" in the afternoon. Wanna go?"

There were about twenty or so people on the roof of my apartment building, drinking, playing music, dancing, and waiting for the fireworks display. I find fireworks to be boring, so I spent more time people watching than fireworks watching.

There's only one bar within a 10-block radius of where I live, and little else. So when I put my clothes in my building’s dilapidated dryer, that’s where I went to kill time.

I went to the coffee shop near my old apartment this afternoon, but was suddenly overcome with a craving for a hamburger. Although the coffee shop offers sandwiches, there’s no grill. So before anyone had a chance to bring me a menu, I skipped out and went to the greasy spoon across the street.

Not too many people showed up at Brian's show last night. He's expecting more tonight, but we'll see. I arrived early and hung out beforehand. Another friend of Brian's, a guy named Todd, arrived shortly after me.

"Are you going to this?" Jen, my local barista asked, pointing to the flyer on the counter.

I looked at it while she made my coffee. A screening of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

They call it laser surgery, and when I tell people about it and explain the procedure, they say, "That sounds painful." But it isn't. And it doesn't take very long either. In and out in about an hour. The hardest part is fighting the urge to look at the little red point of light as it buzzes around your field of vision like a mosquito. "Remember, don't look directly at the laser," the doctor reminds me. I take a deep breath, my eyes water, and he says, "You're doing great."

My friend Jerry looks about the same as he always did. He still has all his hair, and he's as trim and in shape as ever. I'm sure having a yoga instructor for a wife doesn't hurt. But anyway, there was one thing that had changed since the last time I'd seen him: this time, he had a tattoo.

She asked for the true story of so and so. Behind-the-scenes secrets. What really happened?

Yesterday afternoon, I was on IM with Angelina. Somewhere in the course of our chat, she sent me a link to a ninja themed website. Aside from talking about the general awesome power of ninjas, the site sells various ninja-related items, such as books, T-shirts, and hats. Their big slogan -- the one that's plastered over everything they sell -- is this: I can't stop thinking about ninjas.

"What is this stuff?" I asked, as I poked around Fee’s office.

"Oh that? That's some Serbian brandy. It's like a—" he struggled for a comparison. "Like a grappa or something."

I think it's funny when a girl tries to warn me of who she is or what she's capable of. I mean, not funny ha-ha, but funny nonetheless. I am so beyond being hurt that I just have to smile. My heart breaks and heals with every beat. I fall in and out of love with every breath. If you doubt that I've seen it all, then hit me with your best shot.

She told me over the phone that she wanted to hang curtains in her new apartment, but that she lacked the proper tools.

My friend Fee was heading to North Carolina to sail his vintage two-man wooden Fireball in a regatta. I went with him as backup crew. Since I had zero experience crewing on a sailboat, we were both relieved when his more experienced first pick came through.

Last night, as I sat in the window of San Loco in the East Village, eating a taco for dinner, I saw Signe walk past the window. I wasn't too keen on running down the street with a mouth full of taco, so I waited until I swallowed, then pulled out my phone and rang her.

I'd like to write about having dinner on Monday night with the girl with the big brown eyes, but all we did was talk about super secret personal stuff, so there's not much I can write. But I will say this: Her eyes are big. And they are brown.

It was a silent drive across the Williamsburg Bridge, late at night. She sat motionless on the passenger side. There was no traffic as we sailed along, and you could almost hear the black water of the East River gurgling with indifference below. The buildings shimmered and sparkled through the slightly hazy air. The radio played a song I'd heard so many times that it ceased to be a song at all and became a part of the background, like the hiss of the tires on the asphalt.

I met the charming and delightful Allison for a few drinks last night. And, as usual, I spilled way too many secrets. "Okay," I finally said, "enough blah blah blah about me me me. You owe me a secret or two."

I ran into Libby on the subway today. She had her new baby slung around her neck as we stood waiting for the train. I shook the tiny thing's little hand and looked into its glassy eyes.