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I've had a lot of hate in my heart the last few days. Aunt Flow is preparing to make a visit, I still want a cigarette after 6 months, I think that I probably don't want to maybe ever have kids*, bitches are C U Next Tuesdays, and You Tube keeps taking down all of my favorite videos!

SO. Time to focus on a few simple happy making things. Like, for example, artichoke ravioli! Or being taken out to a delicious dinner for free! Mascara! Tooting really loud and blaming it on the cat!

Another little thing that often makes me happy is getting an earful, or even just a small snippet, of what people are listening to in their cars as you're walking down the street and they're totally cruising or sitting at a stop light just JAMMIN'.

Last week a young man in one of those white something-or-other vehicles that look like a butthole suppository (I hate "cars today") was cruising down the main-a-way tapping the steering wheel and scatting along to "On Broadway" by George Benson. It must have been the happiest day of his life! He was thinking about the lights and the ladies on Broadway!

And one time Sarah and I walked out of the grocery store at 4:00am because, when drunk, we tend to want to buy shameful food items on the way to our respective homes (the supermarket employees look forward to this, oh, I assure you) and some pussy wagon was parked outside. Two homies were hanging out of the windows catcalling as we stumbled by, blasting Alice In Chains. Suddenly it was 1992 on Flatbush Avenue Extension. Shout out to my early twenties, y'all (and queue the last ten minutes of the Six Feet Under series finale).

I have this fantasy that I'll be driving along, minding my own beeswax, maybe listening to some slow jams on the AM/FM radio and a car will pull up next to me. The driver, who is of the male variety and totally oblivious to me at first, will be singing along to the "Once More With Feeling" soundtrack from the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This guy is hot. He is also straight, but gay-ish. He's single. HE GETS IT. And I'm not sure what will happen next, but maybe I'll signal to him how awesome he is and maybe I'll start singing along, and then we'll have this total Buffy/American Graffiti/Grease 2/National Lampoon's Vacation moment, and maybe cut to a year later and we're living together in domestic perfection, but we also have separate apartments, and we're crazy in love and we've made a joint list of the 50 best songs to jam out to in the car, reveling in the magic of the music, and our crazy-in-loveness, and by the second song I usually have my hand in his fly hole.

This would never happen because I don't even drive.

*Maybe just the kind that Sally Struthers recommends. I'll write some checks, send some Newman's Own culinary goods, and in return I'll receive real handwritten letters and framed photos of MY CHILDREN who live in third world countries for my mantel piece. They'll have "real parents," and they won't actually live with me, and I won't be responsible either way for their mental health because I did not physically birth them through my lady canal, and they can still have names like Soo Lim and Nam Pak if they want to. Take that, Brad and Angelina!