I usually don't drink while I write.

There's one week out of every month that I refer to as Hell Week.

And no, we're not talking about that week.

I have a monthly writing assignment (that I absolutely love) that's a ton of work for a relatively short amount of time.

So for that week, I'm usually writing late into the night and burning my brain with the glow of a very large computer screen.

Some of the things I have to write come easily. Some of them require more time-eating research than I'd prefer to do. And some just bust my non-existant balls.

Like this one thing I have to write tonight. I don't even know where to start. It's a ridiculous little thing that's so far outside of my comfort zone that I had to go to the liquor cabinet.

I never drink while I write. Er, I never start writing and need a drink. After all, I can't help it if my glass of wine from dinner follows me into the home office. Plus that glass usually take three hours to drink.

I digress. I don't purposefully drink to alter myself to alter my writing.

Drinking makes me fuzzy, not funny, slow, and a poor judge of taste.

But without my little glass of flavored vodka, there's no way in Hell I'd get through this one piece of an otherwise overflowing Hell Week.

Cheers, friends.

I really hate censorship.

Have you heard of the phenomenon "Shit my dad says."

It's hilarious. It's basically insane ramblings from someone's hilarious father (in a nutshell, anyway).

And one of the big networks is adapting the concept into a TV show. And they've decided to call it "[Funny Symbols That Imply a Censored Word] My Dad Says."

That's right. They're using symbols. They're not saying "shit."

And people are getting their fucking panties in a tight little wad and then shoving that tight little wad up their puckered asses like little bitches.

Because symbols mean there's a dirty word. GASP! You know what else means a dirty word? Darn. Or fiddle sticks. Or oh my stars. Or golly geez.

Using *&%# in type when you're expressing shock is no different than keying, "Shoot!"

I just can't believe people are getting offended by an asterisk. If they're so worried about their kids learning a dirty word (that isn't even there), tell the kids that the symbols mean kablooey, blast, rats, or drat.

I'm glad William Shatner (whom I will now refer to as the Shat) is on board with this show. The guy's got a temper and he's bound to say some brilliant stuff about these censor-happy fucktards.

Let the Shat hit the fan.

I am a city mouse.

I love the city. I love the concrete, the tall buildings (despite crippling acrophobia), and the one-way streets.

I love the sounds of traffic, construction, and high heels on hard surfaces.

I love working downtown. And I'm so stoked to be spending most of my working hours here again.

Downtown just gives me energy. It gives me the feeling of flying (perhaps because I'm on the 25th floor). And ideas are just easier to find this close to the clouds.

As long as I stay far enough away from those floor-to-ceiling windows. Those make me dizzy.

Let's go to sleep.

Christopher Nolan, I love you.

Not in the way I love my husband (so have no fear, dear), but out of true admiration.

You tell the greatest stories. In the greatest ways. And leave my head delightfully spinning.

Yesterday, I watched your latest movie. "Inception." A movie about dreams and the power of dreaming and people who take advantage of that power.

People who can share dreams. Experience the hazy dream world together. Some not even aware that they're dreaming.

After being pulled down the layers of these dreams-within-dreams-within-dreams, I couldn't wait to go to bed. And dream myself.

Perhaps I'll sleep easier from now on. In anticipation of what awaits me once my eyelids close.

Thank you, Guitar Hero.

Tonight, I will have three teenagers in my home.

A girl and two guys. Fifteen, sixteen, and twelve.

A normal person would be scared to death of this scenario. A normal person wouldn't volunteer themselves to this daunting task.

A normal person may not have four Guitar Hero instruments, either.

Bring on the age-driven hormonal rage. It only makes for better rock.

Yummy Awesome is coming to a browser near you.

My good friend (and fellow copywriter) and I are starting a new blog.

www.Yummy Awesome.com

It's presently in it's infancy. As in, not really designed yet. But I'm giving my devoted readers the first look. After all, we're writers. We wrote posts before the damn thing was named.

Basically we're talking shit to "good" food that tastes bad. And admiring "bad" food that tastes good. I believe I've already written a few posts like that on this blog.

Anyway, check out Yummy Awesome. Tell your friends about Yummy Awesome. And then go eat something Yummy Awesome.

What is wrong with all of the women?

I really don't get it. No matter how hard I try I can't understand why Twilight is such a phenomenon. 

It's about a moody, vapid, and dangerously immature teenage girl who can't choose between a sparkly pedophile and a housepet.

She let's the pedophile manipulate her. Let's him tell her she's weaker than him. That only he can protect her. Then he leaves her only to return and tell her the same I-do-it-for-you crap. That follows very closely to the definition of a mentally abusive relationship. 

I hate what these books teach not only young women, but all women. That it's okay to be treated like a little doll, told that we're weak but it's okay because it's so cute, and that we should be okay with puttig ourselves in danger for a crush. Because bones heal and skin regenerates. 

I'm all for a fantasy story. I'm all for love and tales of romance. But I'm not for telling women that it's okay to be the lesser person in a relationship. Because in the end your creepy older boyfriend will marry you and the younger guy you like/d can then date your daughter.

I hope the sun sets on this Twilight crap soon. The proud woman in me is weeping for my lost friends.