Who Are You Calling A Cootie Queen, You Lint Licker!

What the French, toast?

I may have to clean up the language soon. I have a line on a gig at a conservative Christian pyramid scheme to be named later. I know. I know. I'm not sure if it's a sign of the apocalypse either. I can't imagine a working day in which I didn't call at least one person a fucking idiot. It's why I don't teach preschool. This will be interesting.

I wish I was friends with Bernie Mac. I think he's been underused as an asset in the Ocean's franchise. Take a letter, Clooney, re: 14, Mac featured more prominently, less Pitt cheekbone.

Hey guess what? Someone in my Anatomy and Physiology class got the epididymis and the clitoris mixed up on an anatomically correct set of models. Google them if it's been a while since sex ed.

I was thinking back on Catholic school when they separated the fifth grade boys from the fifth grade girls and told us "the facts." We had to have a permission slip from our parents to hear it. And nary a word was mentioned again until I was 15.

Anyway, there was a lack of giggling and whispering and no one put an embarrassing question in the hat anonymously and I don't think masturbation was mentioned at all, and if it was, it was for sure not called "self-abuse" this time around and now we're all grown ups and shit when suddenly our teacher puts up a transparency of the penis showing the coronal plane, which if you don't know what that is, imagine what was left after Lorena Bobbitt's work was done. Anyway, so the various ducts and such kind of look like a face from that view and the teacher drew whiskers and ears on it to look like a kitty.

It was the black beret on the kitty that did it for me.

You Can Go Off The Eagles, But You Can't Go Off John Denver. The Man Was Freakin' Friends With The Muppets.

Welcome to Saturday night.

An architect sat next to us and drew cartoons while eavesdropping on all our stories about making out with people. I bet we made his blog.

I have consented to Classic Country Saturday Night, but I insisted on taking off my pants.

"I'd be happy just to date someone who told me his real name." That is my actual quote of the night. Stef''s is the headline. I owed her.

We tried to go to the movies instead of The Dubliner, but it's like the Bermuda Triangle. It just sucks you in, never to be heard from again. Except for that we didn't die and you will hear from us again and it's no where near Bermuda or has anything remotely triangular about it, otherwise it's exactly like the Bermuda Triangle.

It is totally not our fault that everyone in the North Dallas vicinity also wanted to see Jason Bourne fight people and do stuff like call people from the roof of the building across the street. Yeah, we totally watched parts one and two today to prepare for the big opening weekend show. We don't care if you think we're weird, you stood in line for The Phantom Menace, you stupid fanboy loser, so fuck off and get a haircut while you're at it.

Anyway, so it was sold out. We had drinks instead and now I'm on location and will be sleeping in The Pleasant Room so we can complete the triumvirate tomorrow at 10:30 am. There is a Starbucks behind the escalators.

My 20th high school reunion is in two years. I am uncomfortable with that knowledge. Let's move on.

I'm getting very sleepy. I think I should play some free cell to anesthetize myself even further for sleeping purposes. It's not like I carry my nightly dose or extra panties in my purse. Anymore.

I don't know what that means.