Spend several years pursuing a life of crime.

"I will be your knight in shining armour
Coming to your emotional rescue
Riding across the desert with a fine Arab charger"

I didn’t write that, but I might try it. 

I need someone to watch my stuff when I get up to use the bathroom.

"Now look, kids, see that guy? Study hard or you’ll end up sweeping candy for a living."
1512

Self, we need to talk. I don’t know what’s happening, but everything’s changed. Remember when we used to talk for hours? Just the two of us? We didn’t need anyone else. Now you never seem to have the time and all I do is cry.

Self, our quite walks together are now distant memories. We used to laugh and laugh. People looked at us like we were crazy. Maybe we were.

I know I’ve said this before, Self, but the bad man is gone. So please stop avoiding me. I’m sorry for calling so late, I’m sorry for all the yelling, I’m sorry for cutting up your clothes.

You’ve hurt me, Self, but I can’t stay mad. I just think of you and smile. Let’s get some wine and talk. I don’t think I can make it without you.

Ballet is 70% boring and 30% hot chicks.

Today is Christmas.

I was waiting for the F train at 14th Street. There were about ten or fifteen other people waiting on the platform. This Mexican guy kept looking at me. He walked over and said, "Hi. Merry Christmas." And he handed me a weird little Christmas card. It looked like he made it with his computer. He didn’t give one to anybody else.

Since this is New York City, my first thoughts were: Did he just pee on this? Is this card made out of anthrax?

I’m suspicious of strangers bearing gifts.

I said, "Thank you." He smiled and walked away.

A watched pot DOES boil.

It’s boring, though.

I don’t shower everyday, but I shower enough to know that others need to shower more.

The good thing about NYC winters is that I won’t sweat for the next four months.

As I’ve previously mentioned, I work in a candy store.

Today we had a 36 inch gingerbread man behind the register. And all day I wanted to kick him in his tasty little head.

"What happened, Dan? It used to be about the jokes."

I like rap music. I just wish they had more songs about guns and hos.

And then she said, "Do you ever think about me?"

"Baby", I replied, "I thought about you last night for about three minutes. Twice."

When I die I hope I get hit by a bus.

That way it will be both tragic and funny.