People, when you do something retarded in public, or you get caught doing something retarded, why do you think you're beyond reproach!? No, seriously. The woman got drunk enough to LOSE FUNCTION OF HER BOWELS. IN PUBLIC. Did she NOT have a choice to stay relatively sober at a big industry event!?!? Could she NOT tell she was getting so drunk, she was going to lose her faculties? Even *I* of the refuses-to-get-dressed-up-for-anything-unless-I'm-going-to-look-like-an-ass-if-I-don't know that when I'm in public, there are certain ways to behave and certain levels I can imbibe before I turn into a psychopath, and I adhere to them, lest I become fodder for the gristmill and/or lose my job. I mean, Jeebus, I was at a function in the fall that the ME was at, too, and he saw me drinking a beer. The only reason I was drinking it was because at the time I ordered it, I didn't know if I was covering the event because there was another correspondent there, and the event coordinator invited me to stay for dinner. But I was so freaked out, I called my assigning editor and told her what was going on and that I wasn't covering the event all loaded. She laughed at my paranoia, but still, it's MY JOB. What the hell!?!?! And then for this woman to call the dude who sent the e-mail's employer? The two offenses don't even compare. Sure, he shouldn't have been using his company e-mail for personal use if that's the rule, but (insert scales of justice here) sending off a personal e-mail on company time, something that EVERYONE does ... shitting yourself in PUBLIC at a COMPANY FUNCTION, which I'm positive 99.9 percent of the world does NOT.

Getting the dude fired because she fucked up is bullshit and wrong.
Oh, whatEVER.

I've called him and left him messages, like, twice this week so far about just how gorgeous my hair is. He probably thinks I'm nuts.
Oh, whatEVER.

Mother, Nicolas Cage and I were walking through a subdivision with gi-normous old houses that resembled churches, all big and brick and with spyres and such, and we stop at this old lady's for whatever reason (with Mother in the dream, probably because it looked the most churchlike). So we're invited in, and this creepy butler wearing a old-timey nightgown and hat takes our shoes, and we go upstairs to the old lady's room, which was all, like, pink, blue and white tile and more like a hospital room than a bedroom befitting a palatial estate. Next thing I know? Nic is wrapped in light blue vinyl trying to hump me. And worse? He's trying to spread what I can only think was a lubricant that looked like ejaculate all over his wiener AND me.

It was at that point I forced myself to wake up, because I was slightly creeped out. Oh, and I don't remember anything outstanding about Nicolas Cage's wiener, so I'm guessing it's average.
Oh, whatEVER.