I dig old men with tattoos...not in a sexual way, before you get any ideas...but in a "gee, that guy must have been hardcore for his time kind of way." Or in a "let loose enough for one evening of heavy drinking and inhibitionless decision-making" sort of way.

I want to be a lounge-singer when I grow up. I've decided to hell with this journalism stuff--I want to put on a lavalier, grab a microphone and sing to all the newsmakers and lawmen in whose faces I once shoved a microphone.

I have mixed feelings about sake. It's like wine and vodka all mixed into one. Both of those bevande dance a jig on my fragile tolerance. Add heat to the mix, and you have a recipe for a headachy next day. I wonder how our hibachi chef felt the next day after we made him pound four sake bombs before he got to cooking the beef and scallops.

I had a Magnolia cupcake this weekend. I panted at the windows of the bakery, tongue out, waiting for a treat, watching as one of the bakers tried to clean the frosting mixer. I schemed about ways to squish two cupcakes into one thereby making more room in the small cardboard box they give you to take out cupcakes. In the end, I sat on a park bench and gorged. Orgasmic. It's the only word that comes close to describing the fleeting ecstacy of one of those home-baked concoctions. And to set the record straight, I tasted these cupcakes before I ever started watching Sex and the City.

I really don't like New York City all that much. I thought I did once. I even lived there to prove it. I'll likely be working there in the next year or so. But all I can think about is how much better I like the land of wind and L-stops and Ferris Bueller. Sweet home Chicago...

My baby brothers are graduating from college in just over a month. How old does that make me??? College seems like a distant memory I rarely think about, sadly.

I have a martini glass at my desk at work. For emergencies. I also have my picture in the New York Times tacked on my bulletin board. For emergencies.

I faced the burning glare of the meter maid downtown this afternoon as I strode leisurely back to my car, knowing I had about one minute left on my parking meter. This is after two successive parking tickets in a row, thanks largely to the tardiness of one U.S. Senator from New York.

I hate it when people use the last shreds of toilet paper yet leave the empty roll. It doesn't take that much effort to pop in a new roll for the next user! Seriously!

And that's about all I can pull out of my ass right now (no pun intended).