All right, kiddies, gather round for a tale of all the good and bad things that happened to old Uncle David since Halloween afternoon. Goodness may make the badness go away, according to those delightful Smurfs; in this case, the goodness happened first and continues to shine through the tribulation of this evening like E.T's glowing red finger on a partly cloudy afternoon that has a good chance of rain, or perhaps only a light misting.

As always, we start with the good. I am nothing if not an optimist—cheerful of heart even when that dim afternoon's mist becomes drizzle, rain, downpour, or flash flood—and I cannot tell you the joy I experienced last night when Rob opened his apartment door dressed as the Crocodile Hunter. With tan shorts, tan shirt, hiking boots, and an assortment of snakes and miscellaneous mammals clinging to vital parts of his anatomy, he was just about the cutest thing I ever did see, more so because he had dressed up as a man on whom he believes I have a crush.

All right, I sort of do.

I mean, the Crocodile Hunter is not the man of my dreams or anything (I already found the man of my dreams), but he does have a youthful enthusiasm that, while it would probably grate on my nerves and lead to an eventual homicide, could be appealing in certain situations that I will not discuss here. He also has a nice ass, a characteristic my boyfriend shares, making the costume all the more appropriate.

The Crocodile Hunter, the Demonic Shaper of U.S. Foreign and Domestic Policy, and I paraded up Broadway to Joe's Halloween party, an intimate affair involving Vincent Price movies, fondue, and a good helping of spite. We then returned to the Crocodile Hunter's lair for another video and another night's sleep that stretched nigh unto afternoon.

Today: mixed delights. Rob and I went to Our Name Is Mud to paint two more teacups for my set featuring the Chinese elements. Having already done fire a few weeks ago with Joe, I decided to tackle water and wood. Rob's depiction of water was a maritime enchantment, a swirl of blues, greens, and purples that will brighten all of my days. My depiction of wood resembled a shaggy marijuana leaf. And just when I had managed to convince myself that it did not really look like a shaggy marijuana leaf, the attendant came by and said something along the lines of, "Wow, what a cool marijuana leaf!"

*sigh*

And now the disaster: We watched an old episode of "Trading Spaces" while eating the lovely dinner Rob had prepared. It was the one in which Genevieve smashed colorful dishes and grouted the fragments to a kitchen wall to make a Mexican-themed backsplash. ¡Olé! When it was over, I washed the dishes and put them on the dish rack to dry. Then, that mischievous dish rack somehow launched off the counter, accompanied by just about every plate and glass I own. Shards of ceramic and glass exploded across the living room floor (yes, my dish rack is in the living room, along with the microwave). This would have been tragic enough considering I spent hundreds of dollars on those place settings, but consider the ramifications: the dish shards exactly resembled those Genevieve glued to the wall!

Yes, "Trading Spaces" has become an omen!!!!!!!!!!

Can you imagine the potential horror? What if Hildi pastes hay to the wall again, or paints another room-spanning Dot Hildi? What if Doug goes mad with zebra stripes, or what if, heaven forbid, they let Kia loose from the mental hospital one more time? What if Frank does anything? What will become of my cozy little apartment, not to mention the rest of my possessions?

Happy Halloween, everybody. E.T., phone home.