Do You Want This Jacket? I Don't Need It. I'm Cloaked In Failure!
(Alternatively Titled: I Promise Never To Watch It Again)

Well you see, it's like this. Everything was going along just fine; Hellvember was becoming a distant memory, December was living up to the promise of being The December Movies Are Made Of (And by movies I mean Lesbian Anime Porn with a Heterosexual Non-Anime Twist and a Dash of Sweet Love thrown in for audience approval). Two nights later at a conference in Miami I had a breakdown. Breakdown? Breakthrough. I couldn't escape one single thought: I hated Jerry Maguire. No, no, here's what it was: I hated Renee Zellweger's son. And don't try telling me it's not really her son, that it's just a movie. Because I know better. You're all her sons! You're all wearing glasses and thinking about how much the human head weighs and getting plane-sick and wishing you were at the zoo right now, aren't you? Next you'll be telling me I really didn't go to a conference in Miami and Cuba Gooding Jr. is not my friend and client. I know a cover-up conspiracy when I see one.


Anyway. After I got fired for hanging my (non-existent) balls out there, I became preoccupied with Staking vampires to death in my living room/Fighting off End Stage Monkey Pox which I contracted while on safari in Zimbabwe/Staring intensely and quite alarmingly at a Care Bear Bobble Head Pen for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours on end/Watching non-sad episodes of The West Wing and sobbing hysterically because damn, why did they have to go and get rid of Rob Lowe?/Writing my new country's Mission Statement Declaration of Independence, or would it be a Constitution, or would it be The Frantic Scribblings of A Maniacal Girl About A Mythological Country?/Or is the answer D., All of the above? Yeah. I've been a little busy.


I'm not sure if it was The Breakdown or not, but suddenly things became clearer.


What I Saw When Renee Zellweger's Son Windex-ed My Soul

1. The best all purpose reply/excuse for anything and everything is "I don't drink enough water". If your lawyer says "I'm really beginning to question your sanity", you say "I don't drink enough water". If that State Trooper asks "Why were you speeding?", you say "I don't drink enough water". If your accountant says "I loved your memo, by the way", you say "Actually, it was a mission statement, and don't you have a son to take to the zoo?" "I don't drink enough water". You see? Fits in any situation. Try it, you might like it.


2. That new Snapple Go Bananas drink tastes like baby food. The good baby food, not the strained peas (not that I have tasted baby food recently, because that would be crazy and I'm not crazy anymore, that was just a temporary thing). This is like what they feed baby monkeys who can't eat actual bananas because their baby monkey teeth have not grown in yet.


3. Men know when you are about to give up on them and their entire gender. You don't even have to tell them. They sense it. And this is when they do/say/touch just the right thing, causing you to come crashing back to Worship The Ground He Walks On Land, not to be confused with NeverLand, because that would just be creepy. Unfortunately right after just the right thing, it's back to nothing but the wrong thing and a vicious cycle ensues, until Spike Lee comes to you in your sleep and says Do The Right Thing and the next day you go Farrah Fawcett-in-that-Lifetime-movie crazy and murder everyone while rocking out to "Hungry Like A Wolf".


4. My cats have more self restraint than I do. Except when under the influence of Cat Nip. Them, not me, I mean. I'm trying to cut back on that myself. I can't deal with the blackouts and flashbacks.


5. All I really need is someone to fill my ice cube trays for me. Preferably with water, not bull semen, but pudding would be ok.


You can learn a lot from a dummy little boy with a zoo fetish.