Edit this; or, Every girl has her secrets

In order to avoid the risk of alienating the small thimbleful of visitors who continue to stumble upon this weblog -- half of whom, granted, slither in hoping for a belated look at Katherine McPhee Nude or, better yet, for advice on How to Call Off a Wedding -- I have decided, upon careful consideration, that instead of choosing between sharing either a story detailing my alarm upon viewing the physical after-effects of the upper GI series barium x-ray tests I took this morning or a story about my distress upon sitting here on this very couch at this very moment and feeling certain that I smell Dead Mouse, yet equally uncertain that I truly want to investigate, I will instead share my joyful anticipation upon learning that there is a new Crate & Barrel package waiting for us at the UPS center. Much safer territory, and much more in keeping with the original intent and spirit of the site.

On a somewhat related note: according to M., as of 4am today, I have officially started sitting up in bed and sleep-talking. This morning's harmless message had something to do with asking M. if he'd remembered to "set all [his] alarms." In the interest of safeguarding my innermost thoughts and feelings, however, I am considering resuming the use of my retainer in order to keep my secrets suitably garbled.