Is it pathetic that the biggest self-esteem boost I’ve gotten in weeks was from the very cute, very young, very gay boy who handed me my mocha at the Starbucks drive-thru today? (don’t answer that, Blobby) He spoke a few pleasantries like “Have a great day!” and I drove away happy, thinking “He likes me—he really likes me.” Then I realized his barista training probably included “How to Get Bigger Tips by Flirting with Aging Suburban Women.” Whore.

Anywho, my life is one personal crisis away from becoming a country song. I’m not getting into all of it. Let’s just say there are ex-wives, mothers-in-law, dogs, sleeplessness and emergency room visits involved. I’m just waiting for the pickup truck to stop running or to lose my job. Then I’m calling Nashville.