I always wanted to be a camp counselor

Now that the month of Hellvember is almost over, I can concentrate on the important things. Things that I have been unable to attend to as I have been hiding under my covers for most of the month. I think you know what I'm talking about.

First off, the canceling of 502 magazine subscriptions (erm...yes...that IS including Cosmo...whatever, I don't need to explain myself to yous people.). It's still unclear how I acquired these subscriptions, although I can almost see myself up late at night, delirious, high on shrooms and ketamine, in tears, calling some 1-900-SubscribeMeToAllYourMagazinesBecauseIamSadAndPatheticThanks number. Obviously I need help. Yes, I do. All of these magazines are getting in the way of my budding relationship with my mailman. I can just about sense his frustration at trying to cram all 502 of these magazines in my tiny mailbox (I swear this isn't a metaphor, no, no, no) even though he hasn't said anything to me (ever, except for those conversations we have in my head in which he tells me he begged to be on my route and then we ride off into the sunset together in his mail truck).

Then my chocolate biscuits, I'll need to engage in even more serious matters. Namely the firing of Gigi, my Psychic Friend. I did what she said and screened all calls and didn't talk to anyone except her for the month, but if she's so psychic why didn't she tell me I was going to forget to turn the volume down on my answering machine and so still hear every damn phone call I didn't want to hear in the first place? Hmmm? And she didn't warn me about the Hellmouth in my living room opening up and vampires coming out and taking over my house or that I was going to acquire an unsettling addiction to fabric softener or those annoyingly addictive Buffy-reruns or that I was going to get fired from my job as a sports agent after writing that mission statement and have to start my own company with Renee Zellweger who had me at hello, and her son who is probably a serial killer because he knows how much the human head weighs and who just wants to go to the f@#king zoo. So yeah, she's fired.

And finally, the one I'm most dreading...finding a way out of my "evening" with 85,000 year old neighbor (I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking it too "Ewww, old people"). I'm thinking it's too late to pretend I don't speak Dutch/I'm really a man/I'm really Hannibal Lecter/I moved to Guam/I'm a xenophobe/or I'm one of the stars of The Cat In The Hat and so will be out of the country on a promotional tour for the rest of my life, but there has to be a way out. Maybe if I show him my glow worm collection? Show him my hockey mask? Pretend to have a crack addiction? (Did I say pretend? Who am I kidding?)

*Sigh*

So much to do, so little time.