Memoirs Of An Evil Genius

CROSS YOUR LEGS

Jamie-Lynn Spears is pregnant.  Oh, yes she is.  This is not a drill, folks!  This is the real thing!  The SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD sister of Britney motherfuckin' Spears is going to HAVE A BABY.  They are like The Beverly HIllbillies FOR REAL.

I Said, "I Want to CRUSH James Bond," Not, "I Have a CRUSH ON James Bond!"

I always knew I was GORGEOUS.

Guess Who's Coming To Recriminate?

Tonight, Ulrich and I ran into an a rather famous actress at the Fancy Grocery Store, and I immediately humiliated myself by announcing quite proudly that she and I shared a birthday.  She was very gracious, but written all over her face were the words, "Oh, great, another Crazy -- let's try not to get stabbed."  I heard a lot of "happy birthday" and had to stress carefully that I knew it wasn't actually our mutual birthday today, but just that I thought it was an interesting bit of trivia.  I mean, to ME.  Admittedly, it makes no difference to her that some dude in the grocery store is also a Pisces, but it was good news to me, and I wanted to share.  Is that so wrong?

Another thing I did this week was receive a very ominous email from Honey Ryder, my ex-girlfriend.  Yes, you read that right.  She sent me a little "hey, haven't talked to you in a couple of years since that time I TOTALLY FREAKED YOU OUT, and I thought I'd see how you were doing!  Oh, also, I'M COMING TO TOWN.  SEE YOU SOON," message.  I have mere weeks to prepare.

On the heels of this -- and I mean, IMMEDIATELY on the heels of this -- I got an email from the girl I pseudo-dated after Honey and I broke up.  Again, you read that right.  Don't judge, it was a very confusing time for me.  Anyway, Girl #2, whom we shall refer to as Ingrid (for reasons that are my own), and I rode a rather bizarre roller coaster at the end of my senior year in high school, in which there were a lot of things we didn't say to each other, and which ended with her sort of never speaking to me again.  Until, you know, MONDAY, when she wrote me an email out of the blue.

Then today I got a message from ANOTHER girl I knew in high school (although I don't *think* I dated this one -- my memory's a little foggy on her), but I can't bring myself to read it yet, because I'm starting to shake in my boots at the thought of what else is coming down the pike.  I REALLY need to commit Friendstercide, y'all.  Wearing a homing beacon on the internet is proving bad for my constitution.

So the big question before the court is, do I try to gather unto me all the people I know in order to create a protective buffer zone for when Honey comes to town?  Or do I go for what's behind Door Number Two: protective isolation?  It may prove wiser to have as few witnesses as possible to whatever embarrassing truths about Teenage Dr. No may come to light.

I'll be grappling with these heady problems all weekend, while Ulrich and I are out of town, staying in a spacious B&B, somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, hoping there aren't as many gay-hating rednecks in those particular mountains of California as have been reported elsewhere.  We did buy a twenty-eight-year-old bottle of wine to bring with us (what we were doing at the Fancy Grocery Store), so failing all else, I can probably drink my way to a solution. 

I suppose if I can survive that, I can survive anything.