So how old are you? 30?

It has recently been brought to my attention that I can pass for 30. Yup, I'm surprised too. I wonder if anyone who has read this blog would slap her and cite the many instances of emotional combustion and moments of flagrant insecurity, impatience, and well, ultimately, immaturity which stem from this twentysomething HWA. (Yup, new one HWA: Hollywood Assistant. Keep up with me here, I'm not even going that fast since I'm still weighed down from this past week's Girl Scout cookie gluttony.)

Hmm. I've now crossed into that era of age being a sensitive subject. It brings to mind - fading youth, and thus less cool, less attractive, and oh-so-out-of-touch. Ooh, stigmas. But then there's always Madonna.

But put me in front of a churro kiosk and I will have reverted back ten years or more. Those things are a piece of dulce genius.

I can be just as immature as the next person.

[photo creds: about churros]

WTFAIDWML?!

Did I just kill half a box of lemon chalet cremes? I put the box away like nothing ever happened. Maybe today is the day that I become a stress-eater. You know, one of people who gets those binges triggered by emotional distress. Bulimia nervosa. Yeah, that's right. I was listening that day in seventh grade health class.
Watch out, everybody. Girl scout cookie season is in full swing.

I'm sooo tired. So tired so tired so tired so tired.

LOOKING FORWARD TO a weekend where I have absolutely nothing planned. No plans, no dinner dates, no shopping appointments with the girl friends, no errands, nada. I am just effing tired, here.

There's always something.

COTW:None! Man, I'm tired. And now I'm sad that there isn't a single one to note for this week.

More to post later. Stay tuned, everybody. I mean, stay tuned, my total of two readers.