My blood runs cold; My memory has just been sold; My angel is a centerfold.

Oh, yeah. And three chapters of �Fight Club� at my leisure this afternoon. Leave me alone. I don�t care if my reading schedule is out of sync with Hollywood�s cop-out-book-to-movie-idea timeline. Ok, though. Edward, Bradley, and Helena did up that flick something fierce.

It is 65 and sunny in Seattle. That�s Seattle, folks, the reigning rain capital last I checked. But as disgruntled as that weather news has made me, I smile to listen to its source: Shout out to you, John In The Morning . Listen, love, support. I do. Good advice for any healthily symbiotic relationship as far as I�m concerned.

Speaking of: I feel so dirty. I feel so baaaaad, and you know what? It feels good. I knew that it would the minute I could finally pick up the paper and leaf through the ads without feeling like I shouldn�t. It was a simple acceptance of the following: I want it. I can get it. I deserve it. So you think I�ve been naughty? Then spank me. Harder.

It feels just fine�no, better than fine, positively floppy hat and mysterious dark glasses sneaky fine�to be duplicitous and go out to try to get me some.

Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That question waits until tomorrow.