Today's small all clear came with an email from Mom after her morning of minor surgery. Reading her welcomed relief and sense of wonder with the world, I felt an enormous weight lifted from my chest.

Still not crazy about the live missiles strapped atop Army Hummers being driven around town-- but I think that today of all days, I'll count my blessings in the form of triumphs closer to home.

I researched my candidates for an hour before voting in the District's primary election today. And that's some pretty serious research when you consider that there weren't that many candidates to begin with: a mayor--which I had already settled on weeks ago and had to write in on my ballot, a few council members, and a non-voting delegate to the U.S. House of Representatives. Oh, and those pesky shadow government guys-- a Shadow U.S. Senator and a Shadow U.S. Representative.

Yes, these are definitely two elections that aren't going to gather much press along the road to November: Shadow Congressmen in the District of Columbia. Guys running for the party candidacy in order to run in an election that won't even count unless a whole big bunch of people have a change of heart overnight and decide lightning quick to upgrade DC from lowly district status to the glorious, full-fledged, 51st state: New Columbia.

Elections here are weirder than the X-Files.

But still not as fucked up as Florida.

On my way to the gym tonight, I passed a chichi-dressy couple-- he: suity, tall, and angular, she: little-black-dress, nervy, and striking-- standing by the shady side door of Starbucks and leaning into what looked to me like their very first kiss. His body leaning down awkwardly, tentatively-- his hands reaching out for something to steer his doubt on a steady course. Her hand wrapping expertly around the back of his neck, fingers tracing his trimmed hairline, lamplights reflected in her perfectly manicured nails.

Obviously, I just had to watch.

I moved quietly, yet determinedly across the street; eyes darting sideways to sneak subtle glimpses-- but it didn't really matter. I was a witness to pure passion and in turn, translucently nonexistent in their sphere. Watching them was so oddly over-familiar, like watching a movie screen kiss-- but at the same time incredibly unique and somehow discreetly charming.

Sidling up to the stop light and turning my attention to the "Walk" sign blinking at me from across the street, I found myself smiling. As I crossed Wisconsin Avenue, I guiltily looked back once more-- but they were gone. I Instantly forgot about them upon entering the gym-- not registering the moment again until I passed their spot on my reverse walk home. So touching-- and at the same time so fleeting.

But aren't all kisses?

Last week Jackie bounded down the steps, took one look at me, and exclaimed, "Carrie Bradshaw is in our midst."

This is the kind of hair magic for which I pay Vanessa exorbitant sums of money.

To-the-chin short, sometimes straight, sometimes curly, always sassy, and still extremely shocking when I see myself in a mirror. It's been over two weeks and I'm still not used to it.

Kind of a belated change-your-hair, change-your-life action that I wanted back in July. But who knew that my change for the good (never tangled-to-the-point-of-tears, 1/8 of the time to blow dry) would come with so many must-have accessories: painted bobby pins, teensy little clips, sparkly daisy barrettes, and a little French plate onto which to corral all of them-- not to mention that enormously barreled curling iron which seemingly consumes half of my bathroom.

Coupled with my new-found Clinique obsession, I guess I've been feeling more girly than usual as of late. Please indulge me... it's been a slow news day.

Tempted to run out to some kind of all-night music store to find Saint Etienne's new Action single. Other Music says, "Action is the perfect soundtrack for your afternoon stroll through Chelsea: upbeat, happy, and gay." And since just recently had one of those strolls with Laine during the NYC launch of my whirlwind two weeks of Northeast travel, find myself in a position to agree.

Also find myself in a dreamy, geographical-craving mood tonight, wishing to be in specific memorable places with the same lighting and weather connected to those previous experiences. Want to be driving through the Gastown area of Vancouver on a gray, misty day or atop the firm cushions of the front sunlit window table at the Wild Lily Tea Room in Chelsea. But instead am here, at home in DC, after weeks of exhausting travel, followed by days of exhausting furniture rearranging and rereading the Bridget Jones books back to back-- which has seemingly resulted in the disposal of all of the subjects in my sentences.

On second thought, do not think DC has a late-night music store-- v.v. sad. Makes me nostalgic for late-night runs to the Tower Records on Newbury Street in Boston, walking past all of the young, brooding boys at the Berklee College of Music. Will add cool autumn night on the corner of Mass Ave and Newbury to the list of places I am craving to be right now.