When not waging my never-ending War on Mice, I've been attempting to convalesce from this fluish coldy thing I have.

Though I could have gotten sick from any one of the strangers I've encountered recently, I blame Jenna, Our Lady of Biological Warfare. The girl works in a large office building and refuses to wash her hands more than twice a day. Something about washing your hands giving you warts.

No one with excuses that ridiculous could possibly be blameless. I keep expecting my immune system to take control of my motor functions and douse her with bleach, to prevent further infection.

In case you haven't gotten the e-vite yet, we've set a date for our housewarming/potluck/cook-off. October 13th at 8 p.m. For the cook-off, we ending up deciding on drink, main dish, and dessert as possible categories. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, the kind that binds you indefinitely.

Jenna's getting sick now too, so this place should be germ-free by then. And I keep assuring her that I've killed all the mice in our building now. A whole mouse family.

Bring guests, food, booze, and/or chairs. Or don't bring anything, we're the ones with the crushing responsibility that comes with being a host.