My editor just threw up a little

I (conveniently) forgot to mention in my previous post that when I was at the store yesterday I checked out some girl's ass. More than once. In fact, I couldn't stop staring at it. Her pants were so tight and it was oh so round and lovely. Good thing I'm comfortable with my sexuality and none of the following thoughts occurred to me: Does this mean I'm subconsciously attracted to women? Does this mean I have some sort of ass fetish? How did she get into those pants anyway and is there such a thing as the Ass Master, like there is for thighs?

Oatmeal is the devil's breakfast

I blow dry my hair while in the bathtub. Well it DOES save time. And what can I say, I like to live dangerously. It gives my otherwise bland day that added element of "Will I or won't I make it out of the tub alive?". And sometimes that's just what a girl needs to keep on keeping on. (Yeah, I don't know what I'm talking about anymore either, don't worry.)


Ok, here's the other thing. I buy things off eBay. No big deal, who doesn't, right? It's all fun and games until you end up with some dubious Eastern-European-looking adult movies (or as you may know it PORN) you have no recollection of bidding on them or buying them or setting them up on that special display case you apparently bought so you could show them off to all your friends who are, of course, not really  your friends, and what's worse, they don't even like you. In fact you're pretty sure they're poised to start a war against you, but you're too afraid to get close enough to find out since they seem to emit some sort of evil radioactivity glow, and frankly, you get enough of that from your microwave oven. 

I mean seriously, is the radiation that I feel leaking out of my microwave oven going to impede my giving birth to a one-headed baby one day? It's like a warm sunshiny nuclear breeze blowing when I stand within 50 feet of it, I swear. Not that I care! The more heads, the more to love is what I always say.

Anyways, do you see a pattern here? Neither do I, but still I must be stopped! Before I hurt someone! So call Dr Phil and get him to help me. Oh wait, he only helps the orphans, that's right. Well still, for the price of a cup of coffee a day you could be supporting my precarious mental state. Or something like that. And if you're wondering what any of this has to do with oatmeal, you're not alone.

I evolution is wrong, I don't WANT to be right

Dear California,


I used to want to live there. I used to want to bask in your sunlight and drink the sweet, sweet nectar of your oranges. Oh wait, that might have been Florida. Anyway. I used to want to walk along your sandy beaches and dream not of California Girls, but of California BOYS. I used to want to rollerblade along Venice Beach, even though I didn't (and still don't) know how to rollerblade and would probably end up breaking at least one bone, thus requiring a trip to the local hospital. I used to want to go to Disneyland, Universal Studios Hollywood, and Sea World, even though my mother said Disneyland was the devil's playground. I wanted to live in Palo Alto (ok, this may be due in part to that is where "Felicity" hailed from, and what do you mean she was a fictional character on a tv show??). In high school I applied to several California universities even though I knew I would never actually attend them. I simply wanted to hold an envelope in my hand with one of your lovely zip codes on it, to see that "CA" return address and know that should I want you to, you would welcome me with open arms. I covetted your 'Golden State'. (Why do I feel like breaking out into song right about now, particularly Madonna's "This Used to Be My Playground"?)


Alas, my feelings have changed. I no longer covet you. Now you give me no choice but to mock you. Oh California, why did you have to go and change? I was really hoping that things could work out between us. You had such potential. I would say "it's not you, it's me", but there's one problem with that. It's you.


Don't worry, I still want to drink the sweet, sweet nectar of your oranges. Maybe we can be friends with benefits?


Fondly,
-Your Ex