Work was frustrating today. You see, Clarkton is kind of an ass sometimes. Today, her goal in life was to make me miserable. I was listening to In Cold Blood by Truman Capote today, but I could have been listening to Jesus Potter and the Search for My Crusty Hangnail for the fifteenth time, and it would not have mattered. Because she entered the room (for the fifth time) and I didn't immediately acknowledge her presence, she stuck her middle finger between me and the die I was trimming. For one thing, this could totally destroy hours of work if I slipped. For another, Fuck Off. Also, Chasen was extra condescending with a side of smarm. But I did get to see Hornball changing her shirt in her car in the parking lot, so the day wasn't a complete waste.

I have a new blogging crush. See, Hothouse and I were totally having this LTR, but since the end of The L Word, about which we agreed vehemently, things have cooled somewhat. It seems like sometimes Hothouse is all business. I love it when she snarks, but it's just not happening often enough to meet my needs. Now, I totally dig Curly McDimples. I spent my first 24 hour date with Ms. McDimples this weekend, catching up on all the stories I missed, giggling to myself over a turn of a phrase. I think that makes it an official affair. Don't worry, Fake Gay News, I still love you, but you're only around, like, once a week.

Curly is kinda catty, which appeals to the part of me that never actually says what I think. She's kinda vulnerable. She tells stories like nobody's business. It's awesome.

I know it would never work, and Let Me Tell You Why.

1. She doesn't like Rachael Ray. I have to say, of all the celebrity threesomes that I would like to be involved in, Rachael Ray and Samantha Brown would be #2. #1 is Gillian Anderson and Tina Fey.

2. The first time I saw her jump on her chair to get away from a roach, I would fall off my chair laughing, and then the roach would get me.

3. Jewel was my gateway drug to girlie!folk, so her presence on Curly's shitlist stuns me. I mean, I know Jewel sucks, but I will always think of Butchy McGee's story of seeing Jewel perform at Stella Blue. A really old drunk man stood at the front of the crowd, about a foot from the stage, yelling, "Freebird!" After about 5 minutes, Ms. Kilcher got right up in his face, yelled back, "Here's yer freebird," and let two middle fingers fly free. I will always think of her as that earnest young girl in a van. I am totally down with the Melissa Ferrick hate, though.

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