Irony

After the Housing Debacle of last weekend, I checked myself into a Residence Inn near my old school, and spent the week trying not to totally flip out in orientation and become Rain Man. It was friendly, but so boring and dull (especially the agonizing computer tutorial, and lecture number 8475843 on HIPAA and how to use a FIRE EXTINGUISHER, in case your patient turns into Satan and catches afire, in which case may I suggest you have other, larger problems to contend with, the least of which is the PASS acronym for operating your federally regulated FIRE EXTINGUISHER.)

I also was moved into a much much nicer apartment, which faces a lake (which is Florida suburban code for "retention pond"). It is also much much bigger, and boasts two bedrooms and two bathrooms, for the invisible people I have living with me. So people can come and visit, especially if they like camping, and don't mind sitting on the floor in the other bedroom.

The large apartment is really great, but it's also kind of funny, since I spend most of my time when not at work bundled away in my bedroom, knitting, reading and trying to figure out how to become a famous writer without having any real talent or remediating my poor English grammar.

Unfortunately, I thnk in order to do that, I'd have to become Madonna.

I am going to sound catty, and I am, but does any one really think The Material Girl didn't have someone ghost write these books for her?

Personally, I think Vincent D'Onofrio should start writing children's books with titles like "The Adventures of Tito, the Noseless Crack KingPin, and His Seven Happy Hookers."

I'd buy one.