Your mom.

I was supposed to attend the Bon Jovi concert this evening. 11th row, center stage but I am getting my hair dyed instead. No amount of Bon Jovi love can make up for the fact that I would have to keep company with someone I am not particularly fond of right now. Besides, I have always wanted to use the excuse "I have to wash my hair".

Last night I got all sexed up and went to some tacky club with 30 of my former closest friends. The men, they were not choice material but I made a game out the night called "how many guys can I make come talk to me just by looking at them". I so totally won and it was all from a bar stool in an obscure corner. I teased and I taunted and the display of decolletage, it might have helped.

I have a policy about dancing that strictly allows the act to only include women. The only exception is when men I know are present. They are permitted to get in on the action. This policy was formulated years ago when I realized the craziest, scariest, oldest, smelliest, most unattractive men always find me and attempt to attach themselves to some portion of my body. This is not in any way beneficial to me.

All last night I was afraid that I might run into the crowd I used to be a part of. If Minneapolis had a scene, they would be it. I think I might have seen Holland (I know, great name), a boy model (I know, how silly) but he was too busy trying to seduce these two Asian girls who might very well have been sisters, maybe cousins. Anyway, I'm glad I didn't run into anyone because for all they know I am either dead, married, or living in Siberia...and I'd like to keep it that way.

I am now going to see Saw 2 so that (a) I can pee my pants multiple times, (b) have nightmares whilst I am awake, and (c) so that I can satiate my desire for the consumption of psychologically deranged media.