Exciting news!

Sunday morning my sister and I went to a local diner for pumpkin pancakes. It's a cute little box car turned restaurant that can only hold about 50 people. The waitresses carry on conversations using their outside voices, so for people who like to eavesdrop, it's a good time.

There are a few booths in the place and bar seating in front of the grill, reminiscent of a Waffle House. We happened to be seated behind the bar seating. In walks one of the "regulars." He's old, disheveled, and in need of a shave. He smokes so much that his white hair is really sort of the color of a Twinkie, and we've seen him before roaming the neighborhood at night in his reflective fireman's jacket.

He sits at the bar, and the waitress greets him. "Hello, Smitty," she says. Smitty. I live somewhere with 1) a local box car diner within walking distance of my home, and 2) a local box car diner within walking distance from my home with a regular named Smitty. My new life never ceases to surprise me.

The best part was when the waitress ordered him to go across the street and fetch her a pack of smokes and a diet coke. God bless New Jersey.

In other exciting news, I called a tax company yesterday with some questions, and the guy on the other end of the phone kept referring to me and my fiance as "yous." Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.