Miss Skirts, stop your bellyachin'.


As I sit here at 3 a.m. with nothing better to do than to curl up in a blanket, reading The Hours and sipping on a mocha Frappuccino whilst listening to the 1812 Overture on my iPod—which came in contact with a pot of fairy dust and is now functional again—I realize how truly happy I am to be alive.

[Insert contented sigh here.]