January 20 - Jeez, been a while, hasn't it? Did you miss me, Hank?

Oh, where to start? Well, my hiatus was due to some minor technical difficulties, but it's all good now. (I so did not just write "it's all good now." Somebody hand me that cordless drill before I turn into Carson Daly.) This trusty sumbitch is fixed now. Anyhow, I've occupied myself during my time away by reading, writing in my journal, sitting down in my computer chair just before remembering that my computer was in the shop, getting mad because I missed my computer, taking out a few homeless people because of said anger...it's been a crazy couple of weeks, folks. Believe me, you don't want to know any more.

When I came on-line last night for the first time since my hiatus, I went to all of the sites that I normally visit each time that I'm on-line. To my complete shock, three of those sites - Foaming at the Mouth, Is This Thing On?, and The Ominous Mainpage - have merged into one mega-site, www.writingz.com. It's your one-stop rant shop, folks. At first, I was actually pissed, because I don't react well to change, but then I realized what a marvelous time saver that this would turn out to be. I advise you to visit ASAP. (Am I the only one who prefers to say that particular acronym as if it were an actual word, i.e., "A sap"? Actually, that's what makes it an acronym - if it didn't make a word, it wouldn't be an acronym by definition. That's why RSVP isn't an acronym, unless you say it "rizvip," which I've never heard anyone ever say. I - okay, this is once again one of those times when I have to ask myself if I am, indeed, the only person who gives any nuance of a fuck, and once again, the answer is "Yes." Sorry for that little interruption, folks.)

In other news, I came to a painfully obvious conclusion today re: my current reign in the Kingdom of Losers in Love: if I could find an exact replica of myself, only a guy and hot, I'd be perfectly happy.

Bit o' Trivia for the Day: The term "senator" comes from the Latin "senex," which means "old man." Hmm...former Senator Bob Dole...Senator John McCain...Senator Strom Thurmond...I think they're on to something.

January 8 - Happy birthday, Elvis.

Okay, guys, if you've read my religion thing, you know that I believe in there being an Absolute Truth regarding each and every minute thing and that all facts are really just opinions. If you haven't, go read it.

Now, think about three people to whom you're really, really attracted. These are three people whom you'd give your pinky finger to lay. Now think about how two hundred years ago, they wouldn't be considered attractive at all.

How does the definition of beauty in society change so radically? I mean, around the turn of the century, obesity was in. Fat chicks were all the rage. And now, fat people are ostracized. Isn't that crazy? Someone like Jennifer Aniston would be considered undesirable based on her figure. I don't really have fat issues, but it just amazes me. This gay friend of mine's boyfriend is so indescribably hot, and to think that in the last century he would have been considered unattractive just blows my mind.

Nothing new today, guys - I'm not in a mood to write anything substantial, and besides - there have been a whole nine visitors since yesterday, one of whom was myself, so I'm not quite feeling the "we-want-more" vibes. (In case you didn't recognize it, that was an open call for complimentary guestbook signings/e-mails. Please, do me a favor and stroke my over-inflated ego.)

January 6 - Son of a bitch. Just when I thought my dreams couldn't get any weirder than yesterday...

I took another nap on the couch today. In the dream, my friend Sarah made another appearance, and we were, among other things, about to go to dinner with my parents. I had some kind of powdery drug with me, and I took it. It wasn't crack or heroin or anything like that - it was like, the most evil drug ever. So I was feeling high, and I looked in the mirror to see how bloodshot my eyes were. I was about to exclaim to Sarah about how bloodshot my left eye was when I realized that it had actually rolled down in its socket and I was seeing the back of my eye. I was terrified, and I grabbed my eye and tried to roll it back around. Imagine my horror when my pupil and iris fell off as if they were some kind of contact lens. They didn't completely detach from my eye, and so I was trying to flip them back up when my other eye started moving around. In the dream, I had read earlier that when your eyes start moving around in your head and you're on this particular drug, that means that you're starting to get brain damage and that you'll die. Then, I woke up. I actually cried when I woke up because I was still so scared. Now isn't that fucked up? What's up with me dreaming about drugs lately? I don't do drugs. I know a lot of people who do, but I don't. What is wrong with me? I must have some kind of internal conflict of which I'm not aware (or maybe I am aware, and I'm just in denial). Any thoughts, guys?

In other news, I met my gay friend's new boyfriend today. Okay, gals, imagine the hottest guy you've ever seen in your life. Now imagine someone ten times hotter than that, and you have this guy. Good God.

January 5 - Wow, two days in a row! Go me!

I tweaked my about page today, if you really care, and also fixed some of my links and added a new one.

Something really interesting happened to me today (for once). The other night, I was watching "The Top Ten Unexplained Phenomena of All Time" on TLC, and number one was life after death. There were, of course, the requisite beastly-looking people talking about when they were having their operations and their hearts stopped and how they saw the tunnel, the light, their dead Uncle Harry, etc. Then, this guy from Skeptic magazine was talking about how these so-called near-death experiences can be attributed to that odd stage of limbo in which one is right between sleeping and waking. This stage always causes temporary paralysis and can cause tunnel vision and terror - the same signs as supposed near-death experiences. So fast-forward to my afternoon nap on the couch. I had the most fucked-up dream that I've had since I was little. Okay, my best friend and I were on a road trip to upstate New York, of all places, looking for a Perkin's. So we find a Perkin's and go in. It's really dark and dreary, and for some reason, we sit down with an old white woman and her 10 or 12-year-old black son. We all share a plate of nachos (which I hate) and the black kid's being really mean to us because we're white. So then, in the dream, I wake up on my couch, and I can't move or talk or see. Somehow, I get my friend on the phone, and I say, "Sarah, I can't remember leaving Perkin's. Are we still there?" She says, "No, we left and you're at home now." I say, "I feel like I'm on drugs." She says, "Me, too." All at once, it comes to me that this black kid put drugs in our nachos. I tried to say, "Oh, my God," but I couldn't. I couldn't move or speak or breathe. Then, I woke up. This is how I see it: when I woke up in the dream, I really only half-woke up. I was seeing my living room as I saw it when I really woke up. I was experiencing that paralysis thing, and I think that when I tried to say "Oh, my God," I was really trying to say it as I was waking up, because it felt like it was still on my lips. God, that was freaky.

Question of the moment: What the fuck? Send or sign your comments.

January 4 - I just love starting new months. It's getting so hard to get used to this whole writing-00-instead-of-9-something thing. I want to make a nine, but...but...I can't!

So anyway, I added this today, and I hope that I get some responses from you guys about it. It's kind of short and disorganized, but I'm hoping you'll like it in spite of its not-so-great characteristics. (Jesus, this is starting to sound like I'm settting you guys up for a blind date.) Also, you psych majors out there might be able to tell me something: is it a sign of anything significant when a person begins dressing in one particular color? Because lately, I've noticed that I'm subconsciously outfitting myself in gray. (I've always preferred to spell it with an e, but hell, I'm not British, and I need to get over that.) I went on a considerably large and expensive shopping spree before Christmas, and I just realized today that almost every single item that I purchased is gray. I have, like, 15 gray sweaters and 15 gray pullovers and 15 plain gray shirts. All different shades of gray, too - and the only shade of gray that I really had a hankering for before this little episode was charcoal gray, which I still love. Now, I dress just like any other gal out there - so are my tastes just changing with time, or am I undergoing some sort of psychological experience that's making me want to be dressed in gray all the time? You tell me. I've decided it - that will be the first question of the moment of the new year!