I woke up this morning to Non nudging me awake.

Non: Look.

Me: What?

Non: Look around.

So, I look around.

Me: Honey, I can't see anything.

Non: Exactly. The power's out. What time is it?

Bleary-eyed, but startled into consciousness, I turn over to look at my battery-powered alarm clock (we generally use Non's electric alarm clock, but I keep mine on my bedside table because I don't know where else to put it).

I smack the snooze button on the top, which, when not in snooze mode, lights the clock face so you can tell time in the middle of the night.

Me: 6:28.

Thankfully. Non usually sets his alarm for 6:00, but hits snooze at least twice before getting up, so really, he woke up pretty much right on schedule, though we missed the ritualistic cuddling we do during the time in between snooze alarm hits. Jumped in the shower and started washing out the glitter hairspray I used (in excess) for last night's Christmas party. As I was rinsing the shampoo from my hair I realized I wouldn't be able to blow dry this morning.

For most people, this poses no problem. But for me and my huge mane o' hair, taking the blow dryer out of my usual morning routine drastically limits my hairstyling possibilities (curly-haired people -- you know what I'm talking about). So, I let my hair dry naturally as I sat in front of the heater and read the newest TV Guide, intermittenly scrunching my locks to entice my natural curls into place and to check on the drying process. Once it felt dry (or as dry as it was gonna get before making myself late to work), I went back into the candlelit bathroom. I know it was me looking into the mirror because I was wearing my own clothes, but I found a redheaded Rosanne Rosanna Danna staring back at me. Damn the wind! Damn the sensitive electrical lines! Damn! Damn! Damn, my hair looks awful! So, I had no choice but to wear modified pigtails to work. I know... not the most professional look. Thankfully, it's a small office and we don't have too many visitors.

Last night was my office's Christmas party, and despite my 20-minute struggle to apply fake eyelashes (in vain, mind you), we had a great time. As Non so astutely noted, "your co-workers are so nice!" We got there about 30 minutes into the cocktail hour, and we were immediately greeted by one of the owners who introduced us to his wife. He then proceeded to gush to Non about how much they "love me" at work and how I just "brighten up" the place, to which Non replied (something like), "now you know why I love to come home at night" or something equally sappy. Feeling flattered, but a bit uncomfortable, I said, "I love it when you talk about me like I'm not here."

45 minutes and two drinks later, we sat down and ordered from a choice of three entrees. Non and I both went for filet minon (which was excellent), while one of my co-workers and her date chose the salmon. This particular co-worker has been hard to read personality-wise. She's the kind of person who always seems perfectly put together and she's polite without being friendly. So, when she sat down beside me with her date, I leaned over to Non to let him know, "this is going to be interesting."

That turned out to be quite an understatement.

I should've been clued in when, after I remarked on how nice she looked (and she did), she smiled wider than I've ever seen her smile and gushed about how "gorgeous" I was. I mean, I looked pretty good, granted, but to hear "gorgeous" from this woman several times in a row was more than I probably deserved. That and the fact that she kept hugging me was a pretty good sign that she was significantly looser than normal. Her date was nice, though, as he was chatting with Non while I was in this woman's grips. Shortly after that, Non found out her date is a producer, and he swiftly promoted me to him. Next thing I knew, he and I were talking about my script and he was asking who I saw for the male and female leads. I know this is a question for which I should have an answer, but I've never set one in stone. I *should* have a big-budget star and a low-budget star in mind, I know this, but I just have never sat down and thought it through.

I finally came up with a slew of people ranging from Sandra Bullock to Drew Barrymore to Maggie Gyllenhaal (is that how to spell her last name?). Just as I was really getting into our conversation (and feeling I might be getting somewhere with a new industry contact), my co-worker/his date asked him to escort her to the restroom. "Escort" isn't quite what happened... it was more like he had to carry her there, she was so wobbly drunk. I knew then that their evening (and hence, our conversation) would be cut drastically short, as they had only just served the salad. He came back, sans my co-worker, a few minutes later and discreetly asked Non for his date's coat (we were sitting right next to the coat rack). He said he was going to call a cab and that, depending on the wait, they may or may not be back. I could tell he was a good guy because despite the fact that not only our table, but the entire room knew what was going on, he still was mum about her condition saying only that she, "wasn't feeling well." He said polite, but sincere, goodbyes to the few people he'd met, and just before he left he came back over to me and Non to give me his business card (SCORE!) and tell us he enjoyed chatting.

After another couple of minutes, he returned (she decided to wait in the lobby) and ate some of his dinner (which had been served). We found out that not only was this their first date, but that they had just met three hours earlier at a bar. Needless to say, after they both left, the room was buzzing about it.

And that pretty much brings us up to date. Two and a half hours of work left, and then SURVIVOR tonight. We�re having a friend over for dinner and to watch the finale. I�m rooting for Helen, I think. I really hope Brian doesn�t win � last week�s episode confirmed he�s an ass, and if Jan wins� I just don�t know what. I think I would be in shock.

Full report tomorrow!