So I'd like to thank whoever spray-painted it on my door.

Ok, so I lied, I'm never going to be 'little miss frequent updater'. Sorry about that. But listen, last night I dreamt that I was a HOOKER. Just for the record, I blame this entirely on Febreze

-- Have you seen those Febreze commercials with the people who keep going in and out of their house so they can smell that wonderful Febreze smell again and again and they look insanely and deliriously happy to be doing so? What the hell? I know what you're thinking, because I thought it, too. Is Febreze the poor man's crack? Allow me to answer this one. Yeah, it is. I can attest to this because I bought some (I couldn't resist! I wanted to experience the kind of happiness that occurs in people and, apparently, dogs when Febreze comes over to play, damn it!) and I'm not sure if it's because I got a wee bit carried away and sprayed the entire bottle in one small, enclosed room and maybe inhaled a little too much Febreziness, but I'm pretty positive Unicorns leaped out of the bottle at one point and frolicked with me in what was my torture chamber office, but what magically turned into a field of daisies. I'm telling you, this stuff is so good I'm stocking up now so I can hit the playgrounds first thing next week and sell it to some kids for their lunch money and a Twinkie --

Oh, and while I'm at it, I also blame the entire state of Utah. So yeah, dreaming you're a hooker? Not so bad. Dreaming you're a cheap hooker? Bad. Dreaming you're a cheap hooker who only caters to pharmacists who look alarmingly similar to Anthony Edwards? Really, really bad. Sure, there are worse ways to make $40 (yes, $40. But I'll have you know I talked him up from $20 because I am so worth it, baby), I just can't think of any right now. Thanks again, Utah.

Sex just isn't worth the annoyance of your company.

Have I got exciting news for you! Very exciting news indeed! I've given up my dream of my life being made into a Very Special VH1 Behind The Music episode. Since everyone hates me. Or, since no one wants to form a band with me. Same thing. I did take clarinet lessons in 6th grade, you know. Anyway. It's ok, really. I mean, no one even invited me to audition for them, and I may have cried a little in my nachos, but my therapist says I don't need a band to validate me, I just need to have sex with him on the couch in his office for $200 an hour. So yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

This post in my head was longer, but I got distracted thinking how funny it would have been if for an April Fool's joke today I had told my brother that my mother told me HE was really my biological father and that the secrets and lies MUST stop.
LOOK, IT'S THE POST THAT WOULDN'T END! KILL ME! NOW!