I have run out of the following:

...cereal (I ate an entire box of Kashi fiber hearts in three days. Oh, and a bag of dried fruit. And a few bowls of spinach. And a box of Altoids. I disgust myself, but my colon has never been happier)
...sleeping pills ("Becker" is mighty funny at 4 am)
...certainty about my future (Is Barnes & Noble hiring?)
...hair gel ( No, I am not related to Diana Ross)
...wit (Seriously, I got nuthin')
...creative inspiration (Is this the most boring blog or what?)
...shoes that don't smell like city feet (It's bordering on offensive)
...things to do instead of my actual work (Stop blogging, you say? Get back to writing your scripts and essays so you can graduate from college? Be a productive human being? Alright!)

Stupid York City

Either I have the great misfortune of running into a lot of dumb people, or this city is home to a special collective of the intelligence-challenged. My displeasure the life on this island comes at a very inopportune time, as I am supposed to write an essay within the next week, rhapsodizing about the brilliance of Manhattan. If anyone has any ideas on how to tackle this, I'm all ears.

Keys and Parrots

I don't really have much to say, but I want to avoid doing my work for as long as possible. So far, I have done laundry (ugh), read half of a book (smartypants), gone to the gym (must! lose! weight!) showered (eh), painted my nails (vamp), watched an hour of "the office"(hilarity), eaten everything in my house (must! gain! weight!), and picked the fuzz out of my hairbrush (OCD). I bet I will find more things to do after I finish writing this.

Let's see. I have two job interviews on Thursday, and I am not the least bit sorry for being proud of myself. I am so nervous, but also quite excited to have some prospects. I am also PMS-ing, which means after the interviews, I will either laugh, cry, or get arrested. I would love to get this job, as it has been my dream since I burst forth from my mother's womb.* I often wonder where my love of television comes from. Is it from all of those hours spent watching PBS while the parental units were in the hospital with Seth? Am I too much of a loser/loner/smelly kid to hang out with real people? I'm not sure. What I can tell you is that television is something that never fails to satisfy. I have complete control over it, turning it on and off, from topic to topic at will. Find me someone who is as satisfying and easy to be with as My Television, and I will happily re-enter society

I guess that's all for now. I should go do some homework. And by homework, I mean picking the bubble gum off of my nose, where it is now stuck following a colossal bubble.

*Actually, there was no bursting. I refused to exit, and the doctors had to grab my face with what have been described to me as giant salad tongs. They squished my face in the process, which is why one of my eyes is always more closed than the other (it gets worse when I am tired, which is why I look like am winking at everyone between the hours of 11pm-9am). It was also later revealed that the doctor that did this to Fetus Me was stoned out of his gourd at the time, popping pain pills like they were Nerds until the state finally yanked his license. Last we heard, he was enjoying some R&R with Betty Ford.