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First off, I'd drop forty pounds. No one wants to be flabby on national tv.

Then, I'd hide a credit card in my shoe. As soon as I was gauranteed to be on the jury thingy, I'd start sabotaging the shit of the show. "Oh, you won the contest and get to go learn how to make bread with the locals? I'm going to take everyone else you didn't pick to go with you and we're hiking to the nearest luxury resort, which, this being Survivor, is probably only 15 minutes away."

If the CBS producers tried to step in and say I'm cheating, I'd probably tell them that if they really wanted to see a group of people try to "survive," they'd of stranded us in Detroit.

Hey -- here's a better idea. For the next Survivor, they should take everyone who's in a swimsuit and head scarf and parachute their asses into Alaska. Let's see them try to beat hypothermia! How's that for an immunity challenge? Spear this boar! You need its fur for warmth! GO! GO!

Christmas presents: Resounding success.

Ballerina Barbie was a hit with the oldest. The youngest, who shares a birthday with me, enjoys her talking baby doll, and named it "Drop-Off."

DROP-OFF. That is the coolest doll name ever.

I just looked around the house and realized we're missing something.

We don't really have any good porn.

We've got weed, which I guess is something. Anyone who's never smoked weed is probably thinking "Great! Pot! You can imagineer the porn!"

But not really, no. Marijuana doesn't work that way. I'll just become too lazy to want to watch pornography, let alone use my imagination to conjure some up.

And, I'll really want some M&M's.

I just realized we don't have any M&M's in the house, either.

The same guy that directed "Mork and Mindy" also directed "Bosom Buddies" and "Perfect Strangers."

Ahhh, internet. You are a wealth of useless information to feed the needless intellect.

Subject Heading: Tape Disposal
To: Supervisor
From: Me

You know that stack of empty video tape boxes we have sitting in the middle of the floor? I found a way to get rid of them. I think if you really wanted to annoy someone, every few minutes you could walk by them and put an empty tape box on their desk. I bet it'd be really funny if there ended up being a huge pile of boxes on someone's desk.

I'm very busy today.

...and it is to stay home from work on a Monday and never get out of my pajamas while playing video games and eating junk food all day.

I so want to win a regional Emmy. This is my new goal in life. ESPECIALLY if they give out the same statuettes as the other Emmys. (And from every indication on this brochure I have, they're the same.)

I wouldn't even care if it were a miniature version of the primetime Emmys. I'd put it on my keychain. I just want to be able to have "Emmy Award Winning Editor" in front of my name.

Seriously, I'd get my driver's license changed to include "Emmy Award Winner" on it. I'd put it on my taxes if they let me. At the very least, I'd change my address labels to reflect my accomplishment.

Okay, so I didn't really gush about my Christmas gifts, because I didn't want you to get jealous. I got a Black & Decker cyclonic Dustbuster. Dust bunnies cower in fear of my TORNADO POWER! MUAH HA HA!

Seriously, look how square I am. I'm geeked about housecleaning.

* "'I want to help you, George Washington'? Pffft. Even your dreams are square."

Despite my objections, and my intense deficiency at being able to do it, I'm going to try and knit again. That's right! I've gone over to the dark side!! I've sent for my old knitting needles from my mother. I told her all my pretend internet friends were to blame. She responded:

"Everyone around here is into knitting those scarfs that are all fuzzy."

So, apparently it's not just an internet thing. Everyone has lost their minds.

You know how I said I'm going to re-learn how to knit? Yeah, screw that.

I just took a look at "Knit Wit." In the intro it says something that amounts to "Tying your shoes was hard until you learned how, that's what knitting is like."

I don't know how to tie my shoes. I am dead serious. So now I'm fairly sure this knitting thing is going to go the way of the Bar Chord. (I don't need it! I can play Rock N' Roll without it! HMPH!)

While trying to write a tease for the new heart benefits of Viagra, someone threw out "It used to help your fun muscle, now it helps your heart muscle."

I said: "I don't think your penis is a muscle." Which prompted much discussion and research on the internet. Someone went to a website where the word "penis" is said aloud in a robotic voice. Soon, everyone in the newsroom got on the internet and was typing words like "weiner", "sausage," and "wang" into the voice generator so that there was a chorus of computerized "wang! wang! PENIS! wang!"s emanating from the newsroom all night.

At one point, I heard "SAUSAGE!" and "TACO!" among the mix.

We should probably stop smoking crack before our newscasts.

Yes, that's right. I'm gifted with a third eye. It happens when I'm in the car. Even if I'm enjoying whatever it is I'm listening to, I will suddenly -- almost involuntarily -- reach over and hit the stereo presets, or the "FM" button, and an AC/DC song will be playing. No matter what. Even if it's a Top 40 station, they'll be spinning AC/DC. It's like I just know that rock is going on at that moment.

It's a gift. I wish it were Journey songs, but the AC/DC is almost as good. You can't look a gifthorse in the mouth.

You know how in highschool, when you're struggling in Algebra class, someone older tells you to forget about it, because Algebra is almost never used in real life situations?

Those people were fucking liars.

Last night we were watching a DVD, which Dan paused so he could run downstairs to the bathroom (for the 400th time.) He asked me if I wanted anything from the kitchen while he was down there.

"Yeah. I'd like a glass of water. I'd ask for some of your Kool-Aid, but that stuff tastes weird."

"What Kool-Aid?"

"The pink stuff in the pitcher."

"....that's not Kool-Aid."

Turns out it was melted margarita mix. See, I'd drunkenly made a pitcher of strawberry margaritas, which melted. Then I put it in the freezer to re-freeze. Then I took it out of the freezer to un-freeze. Each time I forgot it existed until I moved it to another location.

Last night I came home and looked in the fridge, and saw this jug of pink stuff, and thought: "Sweet! Dan made Kool-Aid!."

I proceeded to pour a big glass full of it, expecting the cool refreshing taste of Fruit Punch or Strawberry Blast or Sugar Flavored Water to rush through me. Instead, it tasted bitter and spoiled, like medicine, and I spit a mouthful out in the sink. Even then, I didn't think "Oh my god, this is melted margarita mix."

I thought: "Hmm. This must be some sort of prescription Kool-Aid."

Is there even an end to how dumb I am?

I HAVE LEARNED TO PLAY BARRED CHORDS! Yes, me. The woman who refused to learn how to tie her shoes properly, finally has learned how to play barred chords in a proper fashion. I can even play a whole song using them. It doesn't sound so good right now, but fuck you.