So far this morning, I�ve flirted with an 18 year old girl from Uzbekistan and tried to get an older Jewish woman laid.

Typical day at the office.

Good lord. Lately it feels like my FadeIn is broken.

I really, really want to write, and I miss the little clickety clackety of typing, but� All the stress surrounding my move and everything that goes with it has performed a coup d�etat on my more rational faculties. My mind has been occupied by hostile forces bent on making me a cranky, irritable mess.

Sexy, eh?

I need a Diaryland swat team.

So far, my stress has manifested itself physically in the form of a zit which has attempted to replace my forehead, but has thankfully since been vanquished by my own sheer force of will. In other words, I�m zitty no more. I�m lucky in that I normally don�t get them, and I can�t remember the last time I had a zit.

When I explained to it that I wasn�t an �acne person,� it kindly and humbly apologized, cleared up and went away.

Angsty boring boo hoo almost over: I just want to wake up and find everything that I need to do is done. That would be nice.

Nine days left.

Oh, and, on the upside, I�m very happy that the current Second City mainstage show is called �Thank Heaven It Wasn�t 7-11.�

Beautiful.

Oh, and here�s the interactive part of the show: Sally needs a name for her all-female improv group. So far, I�ve made two suggestions, neither of which she is too entirely fond. My suggestions:

�Whose Vagina Is It Anyway?�

�Honorable Vaginal Discharge�

Your suggestions?