2003-11-06 | 8:46 a.m.
I'll work for you every day and bring my money home to you

I think it's my fault Bobby Hatfield died because I was just talking about he Righteous Brothers last night, wasn't I. Sorry, Shanno. I got this one.

I made soup last night. I don't think I'd ever made soup before. Oh, wait. I'm lying. I have made French onion soup from scratch. Last night I made carrot ginger chicken soup. It was very good. I think I need the job where I stay home and cook and write books and someone else pays for everything. That's a good one.

In other food news, yesterday at the supermarket, Edy's sorbet was on sale, and they had this new flavor, apple cinnamon, which at once sounded insane, delicious and very timely. So I got some. It is delightful. Like me.

I had three beers last night and clearly that was too many. Ugh. My head.

Man, I hate work. Someone should offer me a job where they pay me decent money to just be awesome all day. I'm good at that. You'd be getting a bargain, I promise.

Going back to bed is such a wonderful thought, but I can't do it.

I am remarkably whiny and work-avoidant today. Lucky you who gets to "enjoy" that.

I already miss "The Joe Schmoe Show." I wonder when "Queer as Folk" comes back? Was a time when it was my job to know these things. Why can't I get that job back? Bleh. Maybe they should give me the job of being one of the people on the 90 second pop-culture roundup on CNN's morning show. Because the guests they have on don't know anything about anything. It is their job to know things and yet they don't, meanwhile I know everything and I get this hateful, evil job that doesn't pay me. See, I was trying to talk about something better (TV) and there I am back on hating work. It is inescapable.

I better get back to it.

PS: Ugh.

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