I discovered that I had free cable last night and then I proceeded to watch Driven: Christina Aguilera, Being Shakira, and the TV Moments of J Lo. First of all, Christina, two whole separate school systems don't hate you because you're cute and you can sing; they hate you because you're probably an arrogant, prissy bitch who thinks she's going to be famous so she doesn't need to be nice to the little peons in Pennsylvania. That's just a theory.

Then I chugged a beer and hauled myself to the bus stop. Before I left, someone rang my doorbell. I opened the door, and there, on the dark porch, was a tall stranger in jeans and a leather jacket. I say, "Uh. Hi." to his back and he reels around (I squint in the dark to see if he's handsome and he sure is) and says, "I'm so embarrassed. I rang your doorbell without even thinking. I used to live in your apartment, but I'm here to see Debra." I mumble and feel retarded and then I run back into the house. I really wanted to say, "Oh, so you're the one who left the 3 inches of grime on my cabinets and the gross fish goo in my fridge." But he was just so damn cute and the motorcycle and I just had to go in the house. I had been trying on outfits, and I had some really funny, mismatched concoction on. When I left, a couple minutes later, I sat on the porch and listened to their muffled conversation for a spell. Later, I had jalepeno poppers and spicy tuna roll (just 3 peices) and Saranac Octoberfest.