I like monkeys and phases of the moon.

Here are some photos.

Cale's birthday was fun. A little too cold. And not enough Cale. That was Friday night, the sixth day of January.

Tom's actual birthday was fun -- though not an actual party -- but the pictures I took were mostly of me and Mindy in the bathroom. Sorry, Tom. That was Sunday night, the eighth day of January.

Quality Street performed "Cool - a bathroom ballet" at Garage Comedy on the ninth day of January. (I am in Quality Street.)

I appeared in a short film by Erin Gibson the day after that, which was the tenth day of January.

Sarah and Paul invited me to dinner on Wednesday, the eleventh day of January.

I took Jeff to Disneyland as part of his ongoing three-month birthday. That was the twelfth day of January. And it was lovely. Even though I took a record low number of pictures.

Ryan's birthday was celebrated by many at Tangiers and a day early. That was the thirteenth day of January, and it was a Friday, and the only bad luck that happened happened to Sean, whose bicycle was stolen. He took it winningly, if you ask me.

Tom had the audacity to observe a second birthday. And for some reason, again, the pictures are mostly of me and Mindy and then of Mindy and Tim. Sorry, Tom. And I don't really think it was audacious of you to have a birthday party. And I will post the photo booth photos as soon as I get them scanned. That was the fourteenth day of January.

On Sunday, I drove to San Diego to have dinner with my family and my Auntie Ping Ping. I didn't get any pictures of her for some reason. But we sure did laugh a lot that night. And then Beulah and I challenged each other to make the ugliest faces ever, but those photos are on her camera. I drove home late at night and sang along with my iPod. That was the fifteenth day of January, and boy did I need a break.

Sometimes, the moon makes me think of monkeys. On the sixteenth day of January, I took my dog for a walk, and I noticed the gibbous moon, and I remembered having wanted to write something about the moon the last time I noticed it, but I don't really rememeber what it was. One night recently I was driving home, and the moon was just so big in the sky and so low to the rooftops. And I had memories of that sky and of those rooftops and of warmer weather and smaller moons. But I don't know if that was it. When I see the gibbous moon, I am often reminded of my high school boyfriend in Japan, whose name was Ed and who used to tease me by pretending he thought it was called a gibbon moon. Like the monkey. One night, we were driving by the sea wall, and he stopped his car in the middle of the road and we got out and looked at the moon and did some kissing and stuff. And the moon was gibbous and he must have called it gibbon, because he nearly always did, and despite my abhorrence of incorrectness, I thought he was adorable. I went to see an exhibit of Laura Owens paintings at MOCA a couple of years ago, and gibbon monkeys are heavily featured in her work. That time, the monkeys made me think of the moon.

It is now the seventeenth day of January. And I have no idea what will happen before the eighteenth comes around. But I have a feeling it will be both less and more.

And a partridge in a pear tree.