Open Letter to MC Hammer:

Hey man, I know you were mad at me when I didn’t give you a tip today. But like I told you after you got done washing my windshield, 1. You left it all streaky; 2. You didn’t finish before the light turned green like you said you would; and 3. You were all twitchy and shit and it kind of freaked me out.

My chiropractor touches me.

Okay, so Hot Big Black Guy* called and I can’t decide if I should call him back.

*name withheld because if I start naming boys, I’m start thinking about them as people and pretty soon they’re gonna be walking around like they own me, pissing in the corners of my house and wanting to talk about feelings and the future and sales at Pottery Barn and shit.

I mean, the guy threatened to bitch out a waitress and was spearing food off my plate on our first date. On the other hand, he’s pretty freakin’ hot. Hmmm…this decision really shouldn’t be this hard… (it’s not)

On the other hand, Brian’s New Year’s resolution of becoming an alcoholic is working out. He came home after 4 drinks at Robert’s bar last night and teetered around for a bit. I felt like lighting a match would have set off our place ala Backdraft. It’s actually quite comforting. With me aiming to be a shallow drug addict in 2004 and Brian aiming to be a self-centered alkie, I think in 2005, we can safely transition into crack whores. Blaxploitation crack whores. Who love their mamas.

Here’s a story about the honor killings in India which are on the rise:

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/oneworld/20040112/wl_oneworld/4591765421073907305

Some sick shit.

Today’s mood: Comically bloated