I have four more pages of comic book left to ink--and then once I'm done that, about eight to scan, lay out, and letter. It might just be possible to finish by the Expo, maaaybe. What a load off that would be.

Speaking of the Expo, they've updated the guest list again. Finally, finally my life's dream can be realized: I can know if Iain's claim to have dated Tricia Helfer when he lived in Fort McMurray is even remotely based in fact.

Last week most of my tux arrived. We'd determined that the coat I want is only available for rental at the actual, physical stores we visited--and it costs $550 to do so at Black & Lee. Pft--for that much money I want to own it, and, tragically, wear it to LARP games. So I ordered it from uniformalwearhouse.com and for $370 got the penguin suit and a top hat and shoes and disappointing spats. Unfortunately, though the paperwork agrees that I bought a 2XL hat, the hat itself is only a large, and therefore insufficient to cover my buffalo head. I called them to have them ship out a replacement, which is something I have plenty of experience at, at work. There's still plenty of time. Since I'm returning things anyway I'm exchanging the spats, which were apparently only appealing in theory, for a bow tie.

The Batman cufflinks Lisa bought me for Valentine's Day fit perfectly.

What there isn't plenty of time for is my ring, which also came the wrong size. All of my other rings (I wear three) are size 11, so I felt confident in telling Lisa that she should order this one in an 11 as well. Turns out these rings are "comfort fit," a term which here means "will likely fly right the hell off if you whip your hand around." I'm not sure what's comfortable about that.

On Saturday Dad and I visited my grandparents, where I did, as planned, demonstrate the unsafety of the stairs in their house by flinging myself up and down them. I also demonstrated the unsafety of household appliances by displaying the branding I had given myself last weekend, with the toaster oven. As Lisa predicted, that was simply taken to prove that I am a spaz, not that they might hurt themselves. But then we caught Grandma climbing onto 60-year-old half-broken wooden furniture to reach her wall safe, and oh, did that give me ammunition. Ammunition for hours.

And now it is bedtime, so I must chart exactly how much water my crotchety, diabetic cat has converted into pee today, and then go to bed.