OK, I could really use a boyfriend tonight. Not only to finish the gigantic onion rings I just ordered, to put together the furniture I just bought, to watch a movie with me, but to just generally provide comfort at the end of another stunningly sunny Sunday in March. (MARCH. SUN. Is something wrong with this picture?)

But I am not going to complain about the weather. All weather is good when you're alive, right? Right. Which leads me to the next item.

You'll have to excuse me if I'm a bit stressed out this week because Friday I have to get one of those scary medical tests that assseses where certain things are perfectly harmless - as my doctor assures me -- or whether, despite feeling perfectly healthy, I am on the verge of expiring before ever getting to meet Jake Gyllenhaal. "Ninety-nine percent of these things are benign," says my doctor, breezily, writing out the referral for aforementioned scary medical test.

This week will be like an extended plane flight for me. Certain, at any second, that I am about to plunge earthward, when, really, what are the chances? Low, low, low. And even if it is something evil, my chances of surviving are better than a plane crash! But can I see that possibility! No! All I can see are fireballs and flames!

In any case, some good s*x would take my mind off my mortality for at least five seconds, if you know what I mean. Sometimes being mortal is awfully hard work.