Okay. Tomorrow is my first day of classes (if you'd consider Pilates and Intro to Composition II "classes") so I really should be asleep now.

Well, not really.

But since I'm at home I've reverted back to my high school "you should be sleeping now, young lady!" ways.

Anyhoo.

So the nice lady that kept me in her womb for awhile and I went to Chicago to visit this college and somehow I got talked into auditioning for it like, Wednesday.

So now I'm FREAKIN' OUT!!!(1)

WHWEAioOAOAWOOWOOWAEINGalksadqo~~!!!#@!!$4`@ YEEEOIP!

But anyway, she is really crazy and has no friends. My mom. She's also very obese, and I'm starting to feel that whole Johnny Depp in What's Eating Gilbert Grape vibe.

Actually, I think I'm feeling more of Leonardo DiCaprio's role, because I'm kind of a 'tard.

Boy do I love "'tard." It's like "'giner." It's all about the suffix, man. Cut that prefix right off. Who needs that bitch. NOBODY.

Okay I should really stop postponing this whole "take a shower, unpack, repack, sleep" thing. But... it's what I do best? Yihppy lorpa leep... ?

But anyway, I think I should plug Liam Lynch right now. I just bought his "Fake Songs" CD whilst in the windy city, and just watched his "Fake Movies" DVD whilst in the um... Eldersburg.

This guy is totally NOT fake awesome.

Or fake sexy. Ohhh lawdy, lawdy.

Yeah, that's right. Something smells like secret puppet guy hottie. (Go HEEERE! You know you want to have a big weird crush on him, too!)

As I said in conversation with my good friend Lindsay Kishter earlier tonight, "I really need to start liking guys who I know. And who aren't famous." Or semi-famous.

But nobody else is around now, except for me, my parents, the tv, and the internet. And of course, my non-materialized Build-a-Soulmate that every girl has secretly formulated in the back of her head over the course of adolescence.

Le sigh.

Maybe this is what caused me to have a dream about eating myself out last night.

Not like... me getting all yoga-bendy with myself. There were actually two of ME on the bed, being like, "awesome! It's me! I guess it's time to orally pleasure myself! Sweet!" I was pretty damn psyched to get some Megan action!

It was a good romp -- I am excellent in bed, by the way -- but I kept on getting interrupted by the paparazi. (But really, what's new there?)

So I guess that means that I either have an extremely inflated ego, lack of suitable alternatives, hidden lesbian desires, or all of the above.

Oh, and then there was a secret costume party at Betsy's beach house and she arranged it that we got chased by the cops to get there, and then some guy wanted me to be in a porno movie with Phoebe, AJ, and Josh.

And now I have a freckle on my thumb and it's freaking awesome.

That's not in the dream, it's really there.

So I called a psychic tonight and she was all, "boys are intimidated by you" and I'm like, yeah, whatevah!

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