pickles

I am returning to this BLOG (suck it, Anna Wintour) to start over like God intended, to do it right--to write as if no one else is reading, because no one else IS reading. If the blog is supposed to be like a journal, then it must be written with no intention of anyone else ever reading it, like a journal (or diary, as Ben calls it when he makes me chase him around the house as he waves my real diary overhead).

Ben is out of town, which is why I am a) up this late and b) doing what I want, watching Conan whilst noodling on my BLOG. (Again, Anna. If you haven't read about how Anna Wintour banned the word from Vogue's new web edition, and if you were present for the 'negatory' incident, you truly must track it down and read it. I think this proves that I have always harbored futuristic delusions about myself as a glossy-haired fashion and word maven.)

Also, I've given the lie to my claim that I am writing in the hopes that no one else is reading, by addressing "you."