Surprise, Surprise...

I had no idea it could be that easy.

[yawns, reaches up, makes notch on bedpost, sleeps all day Sunday]

3 different weekends, 3 different guys...

I'm getting good at this, kids.

I would chalk it up to March Madness, but we've moved on into April now. So I guess that just makes it Madness.

In a not-so-lurid moment, I was walking to the subway this morning, working out a conversation in my head (I'm not the only one who does that, right? Perhaps it's best not to know). I make a joke so digusting, I can't avoid making a gross face in the real world. That must have looked strange. But every once in a while, I can control what comes out of my mouth, even with my impulse control issues. My facial twitches are a different matter all together.

I was lying naked next to Mr. Saturday Night when his alarm went off to NPR and heard the news of the Pope's death. On top of Mitch Hedberg. On top of Schiavo. On top of Cochran. Spring apparently is not the slow season for Death. But it's the season of mating, for sure, and Pope's death or not, I love messing around in the morning.

We were just trying to spread his message of love (and by "his message of love" I mean "my legs." Just kidding--or am I? What has little Porn and Chocolate gotten herself into this time?).

What happens next, kids? Well, I have a full day on Wall Street, the Postal Service is playing on my radio and there's a michievious twinkle in my eye. My birthday month is my month of Self-Indulgence. Impulse control be damned!

I'll wear my badge... a vinyl sticker with big block letters adherent to my chest
That tells your new friends I am a visitor here...
I am not permanent
And the only thing keeping me dry is
Where I am

--The Postal Service