There are two common reactions upon seeing my mice in person: (1) The person is repulsed by them as they are by all rodents whether pet or pest or (2) They want to take them out and play with them.

As far as the people that I know, women tend to fall into the first category and men into the second. Matt and I are going on a trip soon and will be leaving the mice at my parents' house. My mother notified me that she refuses to do anything that will take her near their tanks, while my father and brother are eager to see and play with the mice.

As an overprotective pet owner, I've begun writing out specific instructions on how to care for my mice. Not just how much food to give, but how to pick up the mice themselves: grasp firmly but gently at the base of the tail to get a hold of them and scoop your other hand under them to support their weight. I've noted down what to do in case of death: tell me which mouse and when, but don't tell me how so I can pretend that it died peacefully in a happy mouse sleep. And gone so far as to note down which ones are my favorites, hinting that if they (my father and brother) want to play with the mice (and risk one of them escaping) it should be one of the other mice.

Stinky (the group of fish) who seem to be the least loved of all will be given a vacation feeder and hopes for the best.

When Matt's laptop gave out last night, which he informed me of today, I spend more time consoling his computer than him. Sitting next to the laptop on the floor, saying "Poor baby" while Matt dialed up the 1-800 number on his warranty info.

I love how the tech support person first treats you like an idiot with questions like "Are you sure it's plugged in?" and "Are you sure you're pressing the power button?" and then tells you to crack open the case and poke around. It's a strange jump from suspecting that we suddenly forgot how to turn on the computer properly after years of use to casually asking us to remove the RAM.

Every time that I sit down to write an entry here, I remember something else that I needed to do. So I get up do that, sit down, remember another task, get up, rinse and repeat. Before I started typing this I checked on my mice, checked on Matt who is sleeping, and fed Stinky and his friends.

Side note: Matt has five fish: one algae eater and four tetras. He made me name them, but since I can't distinguish between the tetras, I was only able to name the algae eater. His name is Stinky, not because he or the tank smells, but because he just looks like a Stinky.

See. I just got up and checked on my mice again. The girls are napping, while the boys are having a late night snack. Pepper is grooming Spike, which is really sweet and unusual since they are usually fighting.

Nothing really eventful has happened, just small things. Mental notes taken down here and there...

Do not wander around the apartment making odd noises, otherwise you might scare the bejezzers out of your wife coming out of the kitchen who thinks that you're asleep in the bedroom.

Always remove DVDs out of the tray when you're done (I'm looking in your direction Ratboy), otherwise when fidding with the cables while your unknowing friend is holding and subsequently tipping the player off to the side, you will hear the tumbling of discs: a noise you will hear repeatedly as your friends try to maneuver the discs out.

When you knock on someone's door, at least stand there long enough for that person to get up, walk to the door, and open it, before dissapearing. Especially if you're the resident manager of the building trying to get a hold of the tenent.

*Correspondant Darrett Choy checking in*

You stand around, looking at the merchandise on the shelves. Walmart is quiet at this time at night. The booney inhabiting people are snuggled in their beds. You wander, touching, exploring, experiencing. All of a sudden you feel something poke you in the back. You jump in surprise. Whipping around you notice a female of the human species with her head lowered and her fingers simulating horns on her head. You exclaim with surprise and annoyance, "Jennifer [last name edited out], stop headbutting me!"

The self-proclaimed Goddess of Chocolate, aka Death, aka Mice mill, aka Jennifer, had this strange penchant for headbutting me when we first met each other. Well, we first met each other when we were both working at Hamilton Library (incidentally her husband Matt also worked at Hamilton Library and started at the same time as she did...Scary isn't it?). I'm not quite sure how I became friends with her, but we tend to share the same type of humor. Of all my friends Jennifer is the one able to make me laugh the hardest, consistently. She has an odd way of looking at things, and people have an odd way of looking at her. Really, honestly! Swear to everything that is holy to me.

One thing before I shoot this entry off to Jennifer...

I WILL WIN AT SOUL CALIBER II. BEWARE WIND GIRL, YOU'RE GOING DOWN.

Now that I have that off my chest, I will be signing off. Be prepared for more information of that elusive creature known as Jennifer.

*Correspondant Darrett Choy signing off*

I don't know what to write.
I don't know what to write.
I don't know what to write.
I don't know what to write.
I don't know what to write.

Matt has again turned down another opportunity to write a guest entry. Sometimes when he sleeps I'm tempted to whisper things to him, usually nonsensical things curious to see if they'll have any influence on his dreams. Maybe I should start whispering to him: Write guest entries for Jennifer.