I woke up this morning looking exactly like a Victorian-era prostitute crossed with Marla Singer. I thought you should know. It's the whole wearing vintage slips to bed thing, and the whole forgetting to take my make-up off thing, and the whole hair standing up everywhere thing (my hair always makes it look like I had a way better time than I actually did), and the whole cigarette hanging out of my mouth thing. I wish I had taken a picture.
Oh, and I keep smelling Froot Loops. Does that mean anything? Like when you taste metal and it means you're going to have a heart attack? I mean, yesterday I smelled them on Wells on my way to work, and today in the kitchen it happened again. It was definitely Froot Loops and nothing else.
I should have some coffee.