B's 25th birthday is tomorrow. He won't tell me what to get him, of course, but he has at least managed to let on that he wants apple pie, so I'll be going grocery shopping tonight, then I'll cook it for him tomorrow afternoon when I get off work.

Neither of us is particularly happy about me having to work tomorrow, but I'm not about to assert that I can afford to not go when I'm scheduled.

I applied for a delivery driver position at Dominos pizza the other day. They seemed interested in the fact that I was available for the closing shift, but B was not pleased when I told him. They haven't called me back, and I don't think I'm going to pursue it. B seems to think I'll be mugged or raped or murdered or at the very least just hate the job, and I don't want to cause him any worry.

That and if his mom ever found out I was a pizza delivery girl I'd never get her to stop freaking out.

Things probably aren't quite as urgent for me financially as I make them out to be, but I hate living paycheck-to-paycheck. I have hidden my checkbook and debit card from myself so I won't be tempted to go buy things that would interfere with my ability to pay rent later.

I'm good for September. I should be good for October provided I don't go spending inane amounts of money on my Halloween costume.

The Halloween store is preparing to open soon. They have a better location this year, so I'm hoping with more public interest they'll keep more stuff in stock. I've been seriously considering going as a horrible old green hag of a witch, and making my own fat suit and ratty, black dress. I've also considered being a zombie. I went as an ice faerie last year. I made the costume myself out of a bunch of stuff that was lying around, in addition to modified angel wings from the Halloween store and some translucent fabric I used as a shawl.

My old standby in my teenage years was the murder victim. I had a knife handle I attached with duct tape to the remains of a sports bra and stuck through a hole in a t-shirt. The t-shirt was covered in red gore of the acrylic paint variety and rolled in my driveway to make it look like there had been a scuffle.

I was so proud of myself.

Halloween is my favorite holiday. You're not obligated to get anyone anything and you can run around all willy nilly and be a complete hellion and nobody gives too much of a damn. And you can look and act like whoever you want.

Last year, B went as Tony Clifton, and he will be doing so once more this year. He's got the act down marvellously. He was up on stage entertaining all night at McGuire's.

It's kind of sad. He used to spend at least one night a week at McGuire's, but now we never go. Apparently the place is under new management who wants it to be a "fine dining" restaurant, so it's possible that B-as-Tony-Clifton-like antics at McGuire's are over for good now.

I can't remember if I complained about it here when it happened, but McGuire's refused to seat our whole party one night simply because they wouldn't add a chair for a fifth person at the table they gave us. We weren't about to wait another hour for a bigger table, so we ended up just walking out rather than making a fuss about it. We haven't been back since. A blow like that to a man who, for about 3 years, was a very regular patron is kind of hard to shake off.

I'm sure we'll be there on Halloween, New Year's Eve, and then St. Patrick's Day next year. I hope. It's usually such a fun place.

On St. Patrick's Day this year, B drank about 12 Irish coffees the whole day, along with various other liquor-infused beverages and beers. The highlight of that night was when B grabbed my head and full on tongue kissed me while the asshole frat boy who'd been trying to flirt with me all night stared, gape-mouthed. He stopped bothering me after that. B wasn't Tony Clifton then; he was the Chiclet factory manager, but that's another, long story.

B told me the other day he was going to make an honest woman out of me someday.

If you told me, after I broke up with M, that I could ever be this happy in a relationship, I would've laughed my ass off at you.

That'll teach me.