Let's pretend I'm me and you're anybody I work with/for:

STOP GIVING ME WORK!!

Forgive me for channeling Scarlett, but a girl can only take so much. Jeez. Actually this is kind of a fun exercise. Let's continue.

I'm me and you're my cats: "Stop climbing my bare legs/arms/neck. I'm not an effing tree."

I'm me and you're the metro: "If I wanted to be crammed up against tons of smelly, icky weirdos, I'd be at a frat party."

I'm me and you're my hotmail account: "No I'm not interested in enhancing my length but thank you very much for asking."

I'm me and you're Jim Halpert: "I love you."

Speaking of television, I knew my addiction to Flavor of Love 2 reflected the majority of TV watchers. See for yourself. It's hard to be such a visionary but somehow I manage.

There's something else I meant to discuss with you but I have no idea what it is now. I'm sure I'll remember what it was just as I was about to formulate a plan for peace in the Middle East. Ah well, such is life.

By the way, did somebody gift me with a subscription to Elle Magazine? It started showing up in my mailbox a few months ago and I have no idea why? And it's not like I'm stealing it--the label has my name and address--although I wouldn't put it past me. I've got a long history of kleptomania; remind me to tell you about it sometime. Maybe Project Runway (sponsored by Elle) is trying to lure me to be a creative consultant on the show!! Sign me up!