What is the purpose of the AIM profile? Is it an internet billboard to advertise your home and cell phone number to the whole world? Is it a space to start your own dating service Want Ad? Does the AIM profile give you a chance to display your dry humor, scold the world with your political antics, and copy absurdly long and insignificant quotes spoken by unimportant people? Or does AIM present you the opportunity to make fun of others by cutting and pasting IM conversations full of embarrassing confessions making your profile the "Wall of Shame?"

I don't know about you, but when life gives me lemons, I make lemonade, especially since Violet (1:36:13 PM): gave Mike a blowjob and he happened to be the tall, dark and athletic man I was looking for. But, if Mike didn't like what Violet had to offer, he can reach me at home at 214-5634 or on the celly at 674-6734.

I've been drawing blanks on what I should write about lately. At first, my mind is running a mile a minute with ideas and I feel like I have something really interesting to say, but after typing a couple of sentences, I realize that it is all just jibberish. Do you think it's because I haven't been eating properly during the work day or because of the lack of human contact during these wintery months?

I have no idea what's going on right now. Overload of the Sopranos and TV. Help me God.

I had this terrible dream last night that all the guys I've been truly mean to in my life joined forces to kill me. At first they tracked me down to convince me to be their one and only love, but once the boys realized that I had no intentions of being physically or emotionally intimate with them, they went Manson on my ass.

It's not the fact that they were out to crucify me that is frightening, it's having to see their ugly mugs again. I tried so hard to forget how the unattractive jilted guys look like and they suddenly reappear in my unsweetened dreams. Dreams are reserved for hot tasty men, not unappealing stalkers.

Usually my days go by fast, but this week is passing through like a large canine with constipation.

I wouldn't technically call myself a couch potato, but I will deem myself as a media addict.

I finally succumbed to the pressures of the movie industry and subscribed to Netflix. Three discs of The Sopranos Season 4 just came in the mail this weekend and for nine hours straight, I watched those Mafia men take over New Jersey. I didn't speak or see another human after snapping the first disc into my dvd player yesterday afternoon.

Observing those Yankee gang men killing dirtbags and counting cold hard cash keeps me at the edge of my seat. My unconscious desires to slap those that annoy the shit out of me is surfacing and my love for young (the hunched-back old pudgy guys with leather jackets gross me out) hot Italian men is in full force.

My next Netflix adventure will be Sex and the City. After watching Carrie and the girls have sex for 10 hours straight, I'll be hittin the bars asking the first guy I see to go back to my place.