Hardly any glitter left on the baby Jesus

Tonight my professor walked up behind me just as I was saying "Fuck your fucking mother" to the vending machine for briefly withholding my Limited Edition! caramel Reese's cup.

Okay, she didn't walk up behind me. I turned around feeling certain she'd be there. But she wasn't. I was a little disappointed.

I truly, however, walked right into an apparently faulty automatic door at the grocery store. Does that mean my soul is missing?

It might be. The Lob Knob is opening this weekend and I was willing to whore myself to Nantucket for a shot at some sweaty Valentine's Day cash. I'm not particularly ashamed. I love the place and, if we're to break up properly, I'll need one last summer of buttery, salty, lobstery breakup sex. Mmmm, silver nutcracker thingies.