Waffles are my new religion. They offer nothing but generous, sweet goodness, and in this century of war and upheaval, they are my salvation.

Running late for an open mike last night, I whipped up a couple of waffles using the batter from the night before. A quick slicing of a banana, a little cinnamon sugar, and I have the best fucking sandwich in the world!

Turns out it was a good idea to eat before leaving the house instead of at the destination bar, since en route, bam, fucking pothole and a new flat tire. In total spatial retardation, I could not at all work out the algorithm for removing the round tire from my small, squarish trunk. Just couldn’t do it, even though I have changed tires before and have no doubt I could have changed this one.

Inspiration struck, however, when I realized the benefit of having no soul and some disposable income. My car, which is only about a half-year old, came with roadside assistance, including flat service (a fact I only recently discovered). So, why should a spoiled, female, middle-aged yuppie, such as I am, stand in the cold and snow and get her tiny hands soiled? Why, indeed! A quick cellphone call later (never leave home without it), I’m holding the flash light and telling some tow-truck driving kid to “hurry the fuck up with the tire, I have places to go.” (No, really, I may be a spoiled yuppie, but I’m not a total cunt. I thanked him profusely, offered to help several times and gave him a tip for kneeling in the snow.)

Turns out the open mike last night was at a place that a while back had another open mike. I went to the old one religiously, since in my early suckitude, it was one of the few places I could guarantee getting some stage time. I remember almost terror whispering into a quiet mike that barely carried over the collective noise of sports channels, drunks and hecklers. I was all warm and fuzzy being there again, and pretty much getting attention and getting people to laugh (something which seemed pretty fucking nigh impossible not that long ago).

Hey, it’s only a week and a couple days until the triumphant return (or some other cliched phrase) of my boyo!