Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful,
Hate Me Because I Ran Over Your Dog
On My Way Out Of Town




I have deserted you again, mes petits legumes.
Either Martin Sheen has had me arrested for breaking and entering and kidnapping and holding a gun to his head, forcing him to speak to me in Latin and call me his First Lady, or, a family crisis has caused me to travel home, where the townsfolk's idea of fun is to sit in parked cars in the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot, blasting Los Lonely Boys and drinking Yoo-Hoo.
Either way, life is currently not the bowl of peanut butter cups it was promised to be and I will be MIA until someone bails me out of jail or something.