That's My Bix!

3:30 A.M.
Mile 0

ESTEBAN: Come on’ time to get up.

WEETABIX: But I’ve only been asleep for an hour and a half.

ESTEBAN: You shouldn’t have stayed up so late.

WEETABIX: Don’t use up all the hot water.

ESTEBAN: Why?

WEETABIX: Because I’m going to take a shower too.

ESTEBAN: What? Why?

WEETABIX: Don’t sound so incredulous.

ESTEBAN: Get up.

WEETABIX: Georgia will still be there if we sleep another hour or five.

ESTEBAN: If you can use the word ‘incredulous’, you are awake enough to go.

Mile 25

WEETABIX: I have to pee.

ESTEBAN: Why didn’t you pee at home?

WEETABIX: My bladder wasn’t awake yet.

Mile 275

WEETABIX: Where are all these people going?

ESTEBAN: This is Chicago. It’s 7 AM. It’s rush hour.

WEETABIX: We need Moses powers to make them part and let us pass. (yelling)Let my people go!

ESTEBAN: I knew we should have slaughtered a lamb and painted the car with its blood. See’ you think you plan and plan’

Mile 297

WEETABIX: Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!

ESTEBAN: Oh my god! Uhhhh!

WEETABIX: That smell!!! Ohhh! Can’t’. breathe’.

ESTEBAN: (talking through his shirt, which is pulled up over his face) Gary, Indiana is where bad smells go to die.

WEETABIX: Losing’ will’ to’live’love you’honey’gasp!

Mile 332
After stopping at a particularly backward little gas station, run by the cast of Deliverence

WEETABIX: I think that between all four of those gas station cashiers, they had eleven teeth.

ESTEBAN: Hoosiers give me hives.

WEETABIX: I think all this flat land makes people crazy’. CRAZY!!!

Mile 354
(after passing many religious billboards)

ESTEBAN: They sure like God here.

WEETABIX: (noticing the 18th KFC billboard) But they like the Colonel even more.

ESTEBAN: It’s finger lickin’ good religion.

Mile 368
Passing a sign for Gene Snyder Freeway

WEETABIX: Wouldn’t it be cool if that was a Gene Simmons Freeway? Then we could be all (Making the sign of the devil with both hands and sticking tongue out to her chin)Aaaaaaah!!

ESTEBAN: Or it could be Dee Snyder Freeway.

WEETABIX: Oooooooh’. Maybe it was a compromise. Maybe there was a Dee Snyder camp and they were playing ‘We’re not gonna take it’ and fighting with the Gene Simmons camp, who were blasting ‘Lick it up&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9-. And they called a mediator in and they made them combo it.

ESTEBAN: Uh-huh. That’s it.

Mile 410
Passing a sign for Carbondale Hwy

WEETABIX: Look’. It’s Carson Daly Highway.

ESTEBAN: You’ve really been in the car too long.

Mile 523

ESTEBAN: I think we’re in Kentucky.

WEETABIX: Was there a sign?

ESTEBAN: No, but I think we’re in Kentucky now.

WEETABIX: But there was no sign saying ‘Welcome to Kentucky’

ESTEBAN: But look’ see’ Louisville. As in Louisville Kentucky.

WEETABIX: (affecting a yokel accent)Wull, we don’t need to stinkin’ signs to tell us we’re in Kentucky’ we shore as shit know where we is!

ESTEBAN: You’re going to get your ass kicked if you do that when we stop for gas up here.

Somewhere in Tennessee

WEETABIX: Ooooh, look at the mountains.

ESTEBAN: Those ain’t mountains.

WEETABIX: No, seriously’. I think there are mountains in Tennessee.

ESTEBAN: Those are foothills.

WEETABIX: That looks like a mountain to me.

ESTEBAN: Pshaw.

WEETABIX: (reading a warning sign): Warning: Steep Mountain Slope 6% grade. (staring pointedly at Esteban)

ESTEBAN: It’s false advertising.

Mile 723

WEETABIX: Oooooh, turn this song up!

ESTEBAN: Oh god. Here it comes.

WEETABIX: (singing) When I was young’. I never needed anyone’. I kept thinking life was just for fun’ those days are done.

ESTEBAN: These CDs you burned suck.

WEETABIX: I like this song!

ESTEBAN: I know’. (imitating Weetabix singing) I have my headphones on and I think I’m ALL BY MYSELFFFF!!!!! (referring to Weetabix’s habit of singing while she is on the computer)

WEETABIX: Oh my god. I’m never singing it again.

ESTEBAN: Aw’ honey. I was just teasing you.

WEETABIX: No. I’m embarrassed.

ESTEBAN: You don’t get embarrassed.

WEETABIX: I’m embarrassed right now.

ESTEBAN: You’re ‘Take It In Stride’ Girl.

WEETABIX: No, I’m not’. I’m a fragile little flower.

ESTEBAN: Bah! You’re a steel magnolia.

WEETABIX: Yeah’ I’m the Shirley MacLaine character’ Whizzer. Who will never sing again.

ESTEBAN: Honey’.

WEETABIX: I may die now. Of kidney failure due to my diabetes, leaving my mother to realize that she has helmet hair.

ESTEBAN: I didn’t think that would embarrass you. It was cute. Really. It was so’. Earnest.

WEETABIX: Great. Earnest.

ESTEBAN: What’s wrong with being earnest?

WEETABIX: Earnest usually describes something that sounds really awful but was well intended.

ESTEBAN: No, baby, that’s not it. You have a good voice.

WEETABIX: Are you saying I sounded good when I was singing with my headphones on?

ESTEBAN: Uh’. Well’ it’s different when you don’t have any backup music’ uh’

WEETABIX: Yup’ going to die of embarrassment now. Earnest embarrassment.

Mile’ Oh, I’ve totally lost track at this point

(standing still on the highway outside of Chattanooga)

ESTEBAN: Why is there a traffic jam at 7 o’clock at night?

WEETABIX: I’m confused’ I think we’re going the wrong way’ we were in Georgia and now we’re back in Tennessee.

ESTEBAN: That’s the way the highway goes’ from Tennessee to Georgia back into Tennessee and back into Georgia. There’s a dip.

WEETABIX: There’s a dip all right. A dip designed these highways. Aw’. There’s two young lesbians in the car ahead of us.

ESTEBAN: What? How can you tell that they’re lesbians.

WEETABIX: Because of the rainbow swishy thing in their back window.

ESTEBAN: I thought it was a pink triangle.

WEETABIX: That’s only for gay men. The rainbow is non-gendered.

ESTEBAN: Maybe she just likes rainbows.

WEETABIX: They just kissed.

ESTEBAN: Holy crap.

WEETABIX: That’s so sweet.

ESTEBAN: It’s no sweeter than any other young couple kissing in a traffic jam outside of Chattanooga. And look at that van full of teenage boys in front of them. They’re more interested in trying to get the trucks to honk their horns’ they’re not even paying attention to the hot chicks kissing in the car behind them. Christ’. At that age, that would be jerk off material for two years.

WEETABIX: I hate Chattanooga. Geez’ Chattanooga, Paducah, Nashville’ It feels like we’re driving through the punch lines to a bunch of hick jokes.

ESTEBAN: Those are songs I think.

WEETABIX: Paducah is a song?

ESTEBAN: (affecting a Scottish accent) Ay dun’t know, but eet makes mey do this!

WEETABIX: Do what?

ESTEBAN: (still Scottish) This!

WEETABIX: It just sounds like you’re yelling.

ESTEBAN: (even more Scottish) Basically, yes!

WEETABIX: Stop it now.

ESTEBAN: (if it’s not Scottish’ eet’s crrrrap!) Aye.

Mile 904′. Hour 18

ESTEBAN: So we’ve only got like 100 miles.

WEETABIX: That’s what Map Quest says.

ESTEBAN: Wow.

WEETABIX: I will never think twice about a jaunt down to Milwaukee ever again.

ESTEBAN: So that means we’ll be there in like’ two hours or so.

WEETABIX: I don’t believe that any more. Some part of me believes that we will always be in this car’. Forever driving or stuck in traffic. Like it’s some kind of penance for living in a town with no traffic jams and no rush hour. Like I will forever be circling the globe in search of Atlanta’. And stuck in towns which cause bad songs to be stuck in my head.

ESTEBAN: You’ve been in the car too long.

WEETABIX: That’s what I’m saying.

My ass is having a clearance sale today. There’s a man with a bad toupee, wearing a polyester suit, named Crazy Eddie (the man, not the suit) shouting “Everything must go! Everything! Cash and carry! Because I’m crazzzzzzy!”

We had High Maintenance Pizza last night and I think my tummy didn’t like all that cheese. I’ve been to the john like five times this morning. And I don’t even care. I was supposed to have a half day today, but two of my team decided that they are sick today, leaving three of us here. Thus, I’ve been shackled to my desk, so every time I leave my team to go to the bathroom, I think “Take THAT!”. I KNEW I should have just called in and said “Taking a whole day of vacation… Sorreeeeee!” I don’t like to do that but I should have. I knew that my office is like a chain gang with no early release program. And my ass knows what the score is, which is why it’s excavating for the ass plowing it’s taking from middle management.

“Um, yeah…. we’re going to need you to stay, oh… until 5:00 tonight, m’kay? Yeah, great….”

My supervisor tried to appease me by giving me a new gel wrist pad. It’s not like it’s a present…. it was hers but she didn’t like it.

I feel like standing on my swervy uncomfortable chair and shouting “I will not be bought off by second hand expensive office supplies!!!!”

I’m sorry for that visual up there. I’m just really disgruntled right now.

I guess I scared quite a few people with my melodramatic opening yesterday. They were thinking it was the beginning of my “Goodbye Cruel Diaryland” entry and were all flustered. I didn’t mean to cause alarm. I’m a bit confounded by the popularity of this thing, actually. Sometimes I feel like when there’s a bunch of people all looking up at the sky and I don’t know what they’re looking at, so I stand there looking up too, with a quizzical look on my face.

So, no, I’m not quitting. And if I did decide to stop, I certainly wouldn’t suggest that you seek counseling. I don’t take it this thing that seriously, I wouldn’t think you would. If I did stop, I would probably just stop updating, though. I think a “Goodbye” with a big dramatic flourish is so hokey.

So I’m all frantic now because I had a million things to do before we left for Atlanta and I procrastinated them to this afternoon, figuring I’d have most of the day to get them done and now I have no time whatsoever. Luckily, I wrote my Jodie Foster essay for Bad Snakelast night so that’s one thing off the list. I still have to clean out my car, burn a bunch of CDs for car tunes, go through out legal CDs and put them into our little CD book, go to the grocery store, go to the pharmacy for more Zyrtec, pack, and have an anxiety attack. I had scheduled roughly 45 minutes for vague staring into space during which I would think about how much I had to do, but now I’ve got to cut that totally out of the picture. And now I will forget something crucial. I’ll remember to bring my lint roller, but I won’t have any shoes, or something crazy like that.

This morning, someone was talking about “that disease that you get, not osteoporosis, but your bones just break and it’s something you’re born with… some kid had it once on ER.” And I countered “Osteogenesis Imperfecta?”. And left them all standing there, mouths agape. One started to say “How….?” but I just shrugged and walked away.

I think that frightens people sometimes, but it shouldn’t. I don’t know how I remember such things. I’m certain that my Jeopardy Brain is Fate’s little ironic way of making up for the fact that I will be stricken with Alzheimer’s in fifteen years. Trivialities like the names of the people who were buried at Stonehenge (The Beakers, so named because of the beaker-like pottery found in the burials… not because of their resemblance to Dr. Bunsen Honeydew’s Muppet assistant Beaker, whose incredible dialogue of “Mee Mee Mee Mee” has not been rivaled yet in the annals of comedic lore) will clog my brain and because of that, certain details (like where I placed my keys) gets lost. I’m certain I won’t remember my grandkids names but I’ll know Jodie Benson provided the voice of Ariel in The Little Mermaid.

I’m assuaging my Starbucks Guy angst and vague sense of peevishness with Girl Scout Cookies today.

It seems counterintuitive that Thin Mints do not actually make one thin.

GD little sugar sluts and their sinful chocolatey goodness.

I hope to someday win some kind of award for the Heaviest Use of the Word “Assuage” In A Diary. I like weird words that begin with A. I’m also quite fond of “akimbo”.

In my quest to find non-caffeinated Starbucks goodness for my evening “Fatal Attraction” Starbucks Guy-stalking, I tried an herbal tea called “Calm”.

Burned the shit out of my mouth. My tongue feels strangely textured because the tastebuds are completely dead.

Strangely, I feel not the least bit calmed by this.

No Starbucks Guy either. I think he may be dead.

Esteban just offered to make the drive to High Maintenance Pizza place thirty minutes away in the sleepy burg of Sobieski, Wisconsin.

First off, this NEVER happens. I am always the one to go and get the High Maintenance pizza. Always. Mostly because I don’t care. I love to drive my car. I love to drive my car fast. There is nothing better than popping in a heart pounding CD of alternative tunes and opening it up. Plus, cheesy gooey yumminess is involved, and you just got to love that. (Sure, my allergies don’t, but as we’ve discussed, I’m a bad ass who likes to break the rules.)

Just now:

Esteban: How do you spell ‘Sobieski’.

Weetabix: S-o-b-i-e-s-k-i.

A pause.

Esteban: How do you spell ‘Luigi’?

Weetabix: L-u-i-g-i.

People, he was using his wireless connection on his laptop to search the internet for the phone number to the High Maintenance Pizza place.

The phone book was six feet away from him.

Then I hear the sound of the phone being dialed.

Esteban: (speaking into phone) Wisconsin… Sobieski… Luigi’s.

He called fucking 411. Apparently, being lazy is worth $1 to him.

And actually, the only reason I’m writing this is so I don’t forget for the next time he kvetches at me for my $4.25 morning Mocha.

I haven’t fainted once since yesterday. And my Sims still aren’t having non-heterosexual nookie.

It must be Monday.

Oh god… I think someone has a case of the Mondays.

I watched Office Space this weekend, by the way. Fuckin’ Aye. Strangely, I felt oddly very calmed by it all.

Also, I think I am that big haired sing-songy voiced plus sized coworker who answered the phone “Initel… please hold” in that goofy voice. That’s me. Except that tomorrow I won’t be able to do my sing-songy “Technical support this is Weetabix” because I’ll have a deadened tongue. It will totally throw off my rhythm.

Starbucks Guy wouldn’t have burned my tongue. Or maybe he would have wanted to kiss it and make it better.

Ooh! Bad Weetabix! Having inappropriate Starbucks Guy thoughts again. Must think of Verizon Guy instead. Actually, the Verizon Guy, if he were a little more linebackery, resembles Starbucks Guy quite a bit. I’m sensing a trend here.

Oh, by the way, High Maintenence Pizza isn’t open on Mondays. (pout) S’ok… not like I could taste the stuff anyway.

Esteban and I spent the day together since we were completely trapped by the weather anyway. It was a fine day. I’m still a little dopey feeling due to that flu thing… or maybe I’m just milking it so I don’t have to do much around the house… I really couldn’t tell you. I do know that I feel tired and a little like my muscles need a good stretch but stretching doesn’t make it go away. I’m certain that this is just a sign of wellness or some hokey millenial bullshit like that, but whatever. I feel like staying in my pajamas all day, and luckily, my pajamas look like clothing, so I actually did exactly that (oh, relax, it’s a big Packers t-shirt and a pair of grey leggings… they started out as clothes and I magically waved my Weetabix wand over them and said “Hey, these are comfy enough to be pajamas” and so it was.)

We hung out at home, messing with the cupboards, talking about how much it was snowing, etc. Esteban watched anime for a bit while I played the Sims. I had no patience for the Sims (sometimes, they get really boring, especially when they aren’t sick or dying and everyone’s happy. And I can’t get them to shag. I kind of want them to all shag each other. And I get mad that it’s homophobic and I can’t make the same-gendered Sims have sweet loving as well.) so then I watched some more Buffy Season 1 DVDs.

We pretty much stayed that way until we were both faint with hunger, around quarter to eight. We had nothing substantial in the house and the kitchen is still a catastrophe anyway, so we really couldn’t be creative. Then we played the “where do you want to go for dinner” game, which subsists of me naming various restaurants and Esteban saying “No…no… no…no”. And people wonder why I call him a Burgermeister. We both decided that what we REALLY wanted was High-Maintenance Pizza, which is a pizza parlor about twenty miles north of the city (read: thirty minutes away from our house) out in hicksville. It’s awesome pizza because they put four pounds of cheese on it. When you remove a slice, the cheese actually all melts into the space left by the missing piece and it looks like noone bogarted a slice. And we get it with sliced italian meatballs and mushrooms for a truly yummy pie. Also, it’s only like $14 for a pizza that feeds 5-6 people and we have leftovers for days.

But with the No Travel Advisory thing going on and the fact that there didn’t seem to be any snowploughs out, it wasn’t going to happen. We estimated that it would probably take us an hour to get there and an hour back with the roads in that condition. So instead, we opted for Applebees, which isn’t very good, but it is very close. We have no emotions about it and Esteban likes it because he can smoke there. We had the world’s slowest waitress, not getting our food for an hour after we ordered (and it was NOT busy there, given the fact that you needed four wheel drive to get into their parking lot). But I was happy, sitting there in my pajamas, drinking a mudslide (venturing into the Kahlua genre after only three weeks since hurlage…. very impressive!) and talking smack to Esteban about his suggestions for a backsplash for the cupboards (I think we should have a mosaic tile, cira 1945, in a white and black pattern… he is suggesting a sheet of fucking vinyl flooring nailed to the wall… am I wrong here?). The food wasn’t great, but again, it was only a mile from our house and we didn’t have to make any driving leaps of faith.

Then we came back home where someone called Esteban for technical help at quarter to ten and they talked until sometime after I went to bed. I tried watching Saturday Night Live but it was so lame it actually pained me to do so. And I’ve lost all respect for that Maya girl since I found out that she’s best buds with Gwyneth Paltrow, who soundly sits along with Nicole Kidman in my List Of Stars I’d Hate In Real Life.

Snow days are very boring. The pinnacle of excitement was taking pictures for yesterday’s entry and then Esteban screwing around with the camera’s software, which wasn’t working.

Makes for an exciting diary entry, non?

So, the winners of the Weetabix Quiz, which I’d promised a while back but was lazy about.

The tie-breaking question was to give my favorite ice cream flavor and pick a number between 1 and 100. There was a tie for first place between Merecat and Veggie with 110 points. Veggie never sent in a guess, so it remains a mystery as to who this Veggie person was. But that means that Merecat, with her guess of French Vanilla and 80 (not that she needed to guess but still) is the proud new owner of my Ass Splinter as well as some other lovely yet-to-be-determined gifts.

2nd and 3rd place were up for grabs between Joanna, Tovah, my sister Mo, and the mysterious Frank. Frank and Mo never sent in their responses (I’m thinking Mo didn’t really want any gifts… her loss), which means that I actually had to go to the answers to decide who got 2nd and who got 3rd places, respectively. Joana went with a guess of chocolate and the number 50 (which was a clever guess, because she was totally using logic there… she’s so smart). Tovah, on the other hand, wrote “This is where I lose the contest, because I have no idea what your favorite ice cream is. All I DO remember is that you are allergic to milk.” and guessed the number 30.

Well, I have to tell you all now. This was kind of a trick question. I’ve never really written about my favorite flavor of ice cream, or flavors, actually, since I cannot make up my mind. If driven to pick, I’d probably say cookies & cream, blue moon, chocolate peanut butter chocolate, or cinnamon. And Tovah is actually correct, I am allergic to milk, but I eat ice cream and dairy products anyway because I’m a bad ass and I don’t like to follow the rules. Or I’m weak. Whichever.

So Joana was partially correct in guessing chocolate (which I’d never turn down just because it was missing peanut butter) and Tovah was impressive with her knowledge of my milk allergy. Hard choice, so I went to the secret tie breaking number I selected, which was 13, therefore Tovah takes second place and Joana takes 3rd. Again, not sure what you’ll be getting… I’ve got some various Weetabix swag around… I’ll have to investigate and compile.

Congratulations to the winners. To everyone who participated, thank you for playing. To those of you who scored high, wow, you shocked the crap out of me. To those of you who did google searches for the answers, you’re very resourceful… people after my own heart. And to those of you who surfed in looking for naked pictures of Ty Pennington or Allyson Hannigan, could y’all just get a life or something? Jeez.

Merecat, Tovah and Joana, please send me your addresses!

just for fun… I’m not certain whether or not I should be concerned, but my body smells like codeine. I think it’s coming from my pores. I smell like Glaxo-Wellcome or something. I’m going to be so embarrassed if someone asks me what scent I’m wearing and I have to reply ‘Cherrytussin’.

That’s because choosy codeine whores choose cherrytussin generic codeine cough syrup.

I almost asked Unsurly Girl what happened to Starbucks Guy, but the Matt Damon barrista gave me my mocha instead this morning. I haven’t seen Starbucks Guy since the day before Valentine’s Day. I think he’s joined a monastery or something after hearing about Esteban, my sugar daddy. That’s probably why Unsurly Girl hasn’t been surly. With the exception of while I was sick, I’ve been maintaining a Two Starbucks A Day habit, with Caffe Mocha in the morning and Chai in the evening, in hopes of seeing his flirty caffeinated goodness. I was up until almost 1 a.m. two nights ago because apparently Chai has caffeine in it too. Wish someone had filled me in on that little detail.

Now instead, I’m moping and playing ‘All By Myself’ from the Bridget Jones soundtrack instead. If I were feeling better, I’d watch Bring It On but I don’t have enough stamina to do the cheerleading routines along with Torrance and Missy. Yes, I know. I’m very wrong in the head. But it’s Eliza Dushku people! If Eliza says ‘Ready Ok!’, you just gotta be movin’ that bulbous ass! You just gotta do the jazz hands!

This webpage got a hit on Google for ‘Weetabix +Mo +Pictures’. Mo wasn’t all that impressed when I told her that she must have a fan. She’s offered to let me take a picture of her with my digital camera, but I’m not sure that we should pander to the random Googlers. If you have a Mo fetish, send me an email. I’d be happy to forward it to Mo’ after laughing at you a lot, of course. Have I told you that she had me make her a rip CD and one of the songs on it was an N’Sync song? And she’s got the hots for Steve from Blues Clues. And let’s not even discuss her Ricky Martin infatuation’ yes, even now she wants to have her bon-bon shaken by his Menudo-ness.

She tried to convince me to sleep over at her house tonight to babysit Abby so she could go to Milwaukee and party. I begged off since I’m still getting over the killer flu thing and don’t want to get Abby sick. She whined and said ‘You won’t get her sick!!’ I replied ‘Act like a mom, not like OUR Mom.’ Which I thought was really clever, but she didn’t appreciate it. I’m not sure how she has gotten a fan’ she has absolutely no sense of humor whatsoever.

Man, today completely sucked from an all-over standpoint. I had some ugly problems to fix’ ugly problems which made my head hurt and feel like Chester Copperpot, skewered by a nasty One-Eyed Willy shish kebob, instead of the normal crack team of adorable misfits and a cute red-headed cheerleader tag along to maintain aesthetics. I actually literally fled the building at 5:30 pm, half an hour after I was supposed to have been long gone. Esteban was waiting to pick me up outside in his truck and he was all brain-fucked and stressed out as well. Then we ended up having a stressful dinner followed by a wicked little ten-minute fight. Esteban and I don’t have very many fights, if not only for the reason that we have completely different fighting styles. He’s a quick temper and quick releaser’ flies off immediately into tangents but then extinguishes just as quickly. I, on the other hand, am slow to ignite, remaining calm when he’s in a tizzy and ramp up to mad very slowly, maintaining logic and a stable demeanor, but if you press my buttons, baby, watch out because I’ll be burn for a long long time. He’s like tinder, I’m like coal. However, tonight, for whatever reason, I went to 11 almost immediately. Probably because I’m still not feeling up to par, haven’t had chocolate in a really long time, and I’m half hyped on estrogen martinis. He’s promised to remedy what I was pissed about and I promised not to be huffy about it for the next twenty-four hours to give him time to fix it. It was equitable, I guess. I hope that was our fight that we predicted was going to happen last weekend.

To calm myself afterwards, I went through Starbucks and got another Chai. Ok, I learned my lesson the other night, but it’s Friday and I don’t care if I’m up too late tonight. I have a beautifying appointment tomorrow morning and that’s no big. I may just sit on the sofa all night and suck the insides out of dozens of Advil Liqui-Gels. If you swish your mouth with Diet Coke afterwards, they kind of taste like Good & Plenties.

Women are such strange creatures. Or at least I am. Sometimes, I could live like a feral girl, clothing strewn everywhere, knocking Starbucks cups out of the way as I get into the car. When I scoff at the Sims game because I know that old garbage doesn’t draw flies THAT fast. And then there are other times when I fixate on buying the expensive light bulbs because they might make the white paint look whiter in our living room and I think about putting a peg board on the inside of my medicine cabinet for my makeup brushes, and outlining each one, so I will always know which one goes where. I am the gender equivalent of sweet and sour chicken.

By the way, what the heck is up with that new Survivor??? Could that island BE any more easy to live on? God, why didn’t they just have it at Olde Country Buffet or something? I have to say, though, I love that one team (The Muu-Muus? Puu-puus? The one with Hunter and the girl with the genetically impossible chest). I can smell the dysfunction brewing already, despite Hunter and his sexy biceps and exquisite leadership skills. And Tupac made me laugh and laugh, with his many descriptions of Snotty Boob’s mammaries. I’m glad that they got rid of Yoga Breathing Man. He creeped me right the hell out. He had the look of a UFO abductee. And when he smiled, it gave me chills. Smart move there, even with Grandma as ballast. When in doubt, kick Crazy out.

That being said, I would be so the first one kicked off the tribe. It’s not even funny. My tribe would have no use for my clever catch phrases.