Dear A,

This is where I admit that I never watched 90210. I've never seen a single episode. So I don't know what Kelly Kawhatshername would do, but I'm guessing that she--and everyone else-- thinks I'm a horrible person going straight to Hell. And uh... according to the hickey on my neck, she's right. (Side note, did you know you could make out so hard you could get a hickey on your lip? I didn't until about twenty minutes ago when I looked in the mirror.) Anyway, the past 24 hours of being a homewrecking bitch have been fun, but the Irish-Catholic guilt is starting to kick in, and I've gotta find a turtleneck to wear in August before it beats me to a pulp. Which is to say, I'm turning the reins of doing inappropriate things with inappropriate men back to other on this blog who've burnt their brains out with too many drugs to give a shit.

I taught the albino monk in Da Vinci Code everything he knew about self-flagellation,
R