Three Shopping Days Left,
My Mind Is More Beautiful Than Russell Crowe's,
And I'm Once, Twice, Three Times A Lady, I'll Have You Know

1. When I was in fourth grade one of my friend's older brothers liked me. Liked me, liked me. I didn't figure it out until I was at my friend's house hanging out and he asked her to go get something in the other room. He used this opportunity to shut the door, put on a Lionel Richie tape, and make sweet baby Lionel Richie love to me sit next to me on the bed. That's right, Lionel "Say You, Say Me" Richie. Hey boys, I have a few words of advice. If you're creepy as it is, fortheloveofgod do not put on Lionel Richie when you try to make your move. I think I got up and ran out of there as fast as my little pink Reebok-ed feet would take me, but truthfully I've blocked most of The Incident out, so we could have gotten married for all I know, with me walking down the aisle to "Hello, Is It Me You're Looking For?" while my parents wept silently for the loss of their only daughter from the front pew of The Church Of Latter Day Lionel Richie Saints. I don't think so though, because when he bagged my groceries while I was home for the holiday he didn't say anything like "Hey, Well I'll be damned, it's my long lost child bride". He didn't say anything at all. Which only leads me to believe Lionel Richie a good marriage base does not make. Say you, say me, say it together, naturally.


2. I'm difficult. I admit this. I can't stop it, and even if I tell you I wish I could, I'm lying. I lie. I like to argue. I think O.J. is innocent. I will never, ever watch A Beautiful Mind, just because. I have a shoe-tying test that I administer to people with out their knowing and if you fail, you're just not worthy of my time, sorry. I have never worn gloves, wait, that's not true, I've worn surgical gloves (Shut up, like you haven't worn surgical gloves!), but I mean winter gloves. I'm a mitten girl. I ask really obvious questions, like "Are you sleeping?" when you're sleeping and "Did that hurt?" when you stab yourself in the leg with a fork after I tell you about how I don't really blame the Menendez Brothers or when I tell you I can't come out to play because Jerry Maguire is on again, and who knows, maybe this time it will end differently, maybe this time Renee Zellweger's bastard son will get eaten by a pack of Wolverines at the zoo, it happens, just ask Boz. Deal with it. Love me; love my high level of difficulty.


3. All I really want for my birthday this year is an ark, Good Luck Bear to admit he is a mockery of a Care Bear, and Ben Folds to perform his rendition of "Tiny Dancer" for me at my surprise birthday party that will be reminiscent of Kelly's surprise birthday party on that episode of Beverly Hills, 90210, you know, the one in which she ended up passing out in the bathroom after downing a package of diet pills, only minus that part, but with the same guest list and add Ben Folds and me as The Tiny Dancer and you've got my party. See you there. Oh, you're not on the guest list? Gee, I'm sorry. But you understand, I have to leave room for Kelly, Brenda, Dylan, Steve, Donna, David, and let's not forget Nat, because Nat makes the pie after all. Maybe you can come next year; I have a sneaking suspicion Kelly will be in rehab for either drugs or burn recovery or struggling with her sexuality then and that will leave an open slot.