I have the BEST best friend in the entire world.

She took me out tonight, picking me up as all good boyfriends do when their girlfriends get their driver's license suspended (Isn't it kind of weird how I automatically made Car the boy?). She drove to Barnes and Noble where we sat in the cafe and sipped our very sophisticated speciality frappuccinos and discussed important issues, like feminism's take on holding open doors and why it's so weird to pray for other people. We later ended up at Target, where I bought my seventh and eighth pair of tights in three days. I think that's a sickness. She dropped me off with a plethora of gifts, including stationery, a very European style journal, a sewing kit (must. learn. how. to. sew.), an alarm clock, 12 felt-tip markers and pepper spray. I am so prepared now that it's not even funny.

Then there's the packing issue itself. My room was SPOTLESS just a week and a half ago. Every last piece of clothing was tucked away in my bureau or closet. Now, it's like every viable surface is fair game for my messiness. Even the one suitcase that I had nearly packed has to be redone because I realized that the only outfit I had left - a strappy tank-top and "Got Crabs?" boxer shorts (from a seafood restaurant, come on!!) - might not be appropriate for outside wear. And of course the chosen wardrobe pieces were near the bottom of my stack.

That's all the complaining I can think of for now. The end.