I may be a little overwhelmed right now, in my brain. You know how I get. You all know. Right? Yes? What? Hello! Blah blah. Chicken!

Hi there. Let me start again.

There's really no reason I can't take a deep breath and relax for a second. I'm pretty tired, but I'll never be able to get to sleep without sorting out my thoughts. So cute, my thoughts. They fit into neat little paragraph-sized slots in a journal entry. Does that make any sense whatsoever? No? Well then. I guess I should introduce you all to Alvin, my new stuffed chicken.

I know what you're thinking. Especially those of you who wrote to inform me that the Mighty Chicken is actually a quail. You're thinking, "Mo, that's a duck." Well, you know that. And I know that. But Alvin doesn't know that. Shh.

I went to Denny's with my friend Megan tonight, after we both got off work. ("I work at one Starbucks, and she works at another Starbucks down the street...") You see, there's this hot French Moroccan guy who works there, so she's making me go ingest Denny's food on a regular basis so she can stalk him. This was our second trip to Denny's in a week. Good god.

But you see, I owe her one. She was my wingman with Will the Pig-Dog Pool Guy, and even though that imploded horrifically, she totally had my back the whole time. And so, even though I was tired after work and the idea of eating at Denny's makes me slightly queasy, I was honor-bound to go with her. I have my principles, after all.

We walked in the door and I scoped out the claw machine. I got in this habit after dating Kevin, who won stuffed animals off those machines every single time he tried. He taught me the tricks, you see-- the main trick being to know what you can go for. And sitting on top I saw Alvin, the Duck Who Thinks He's a Chicken.

I suppose I could go for a gripping, suspenseful rendition of the next few minutes, but why bother? It cost me a buck fifty, it wasn't very interesting, and I won Alvin.

I named him after the French Moroccan guy, whose name is Simon. (I'm giving you his real name because once you know that the chicken's name is Alvin, you're going to extrapolate that the French Moroccan guy is either Simon or Theodore. So if I gave him the pseudonym Theodore, you'd have figured it out anyway. See what I mean?)

I squealed a lot, hugged Alvin a lot, and enthusiastically proclaimed to nearby patrons that I had won a chicken. In short, I turned into a five year old. Stuffed animals have that effect on me; I'm certain it's charming.

Well, probably not. But I figured that was all to the good, since we wanted Simon to like Megan. If he saw me acting like a complete lunatic over this stuffed chicken, he'd think, "Right. Best if I stay away from the crazy one."

Then we sat down to order. Megan decided on pancakes with strawberries, and I said, "Hmm. Breakfast sounds kinda good. Do I want a waffle, or chicken strips?"

I just wasn't thinking! Needless to say, I went with the waffle.

In keeping with the chipmunk theme, we made "acorn" our code for "Simon's coming! Stop talking strategy." We would cleverly work the word into sentences such as, "My parents had an acorn tree while I was growing up," or, "I think the guy at the table behind you ordered an acorn shake," or, "My aunt Petunia was complaining that she has a corn on her left foot."

(Why yes, we are in our late 20s. Why do you ask?)

We lingered for a good long while and talked about bullshit, but Simon didn't really come over to talk to us very much-- he had a lot of tables. He was very friendly and remembered our names, though, which is a plus. But I was thinking, damn, we're going to have to become regulars at Denny's at this rate before anything happens.

The things I do for friendship.

Unexpectedly though, as we were paying our bill and chatting and whatnot, Simon gave Megan his phone number. It was like, "Woah! What just happened there!?" He was so cute about it-- he said he just moved here a few months ago, doesn't have a lot of friends yet, and would love to hang out with us. He also apologized for his English, which was very endearing. (Both his English and the apology were endearing.)

He definitely included both of us in his conversation and invitation, but he did choose to hand his number to Megan. I was glad. I fully admitted this to Megan, but I don't really know how to interact without being somewhat flirtatious.

Maybe flirtatious isn't the word. I like connecting with people, maybe? I like getting attention? Whatever the reason, I simply don't know how to engage someone in conversation and then nudge them over to someone else. I don't have that skill. It doesn't come naturally.

But I was trying! I was trying to keep the conversation with Simon going if Megan got stuck, while at the same time giving her plenty of opportunity to talk if she thought of something to say. It's very delicate tactical strategery, and I'm glad it paid off.

So now she has to decide how soon to call him and what tack to take and so on and so forth. Normally I'd be all over giving her advice, but I struggled with the same situation not long ago and you know what they say: once bitten, twice shy. She'll have to ask someone else.

This week is spring break, and I'm so glad. I need the break desperately.

Of course, Bruce is coming to visit on Wednesday. That will be great for my relaxation and overall happiness, but it won't get my homework done, or any other thing I have to do. I have to try and cram a lot of stuff the next couple of days-- ride my bike, clean everything, pay my bills, finish tips at work, catch up on homework, etc. etc.

I closed the store on Sunday. It was a good shift, but I missed the Oscars. I came home and watched my tape of them-- which was fun, but I wish I could have been doing an Oscar entry. I don't remember most of my reactions anymore. Here are some of them:

The only award I deeply cared about was Best Actor, and I was so thrilled because my boyfriend won. His name is Denzel. You may have heard of him. I thought Julia Roberts was over the top in her excitement until I remembered they worked together on The Pelican Brief so it would make sense that they are friends. She just did what every red blooded woman in America wanted to do: she jumped on him. Lucky girl.

I think Monsters, Inc. is much better than Shrek. Cirque du Soleil was incredible. The Woody Allen bit was great. The Sidney Poitier tribute made me cry. I was dying for them to cut to Nicole when Tom Cruise came out. Nicole Kidman bugs the hell out of me and I'm not sure why.

Watching Halle Berry win was amazing, even though I thought she might hyperventilate at one point. Jennifer Connelly is an actor-- couldn't she at least act excited? And she looked washed out and far too skinny. Kate Winslet looked gorgeous, as ever. I wish Steve Martin was hosting because Whoopi sucks. Sharon Stone was on drugs I think. Gwyneth's makeup was cute, but ixnay on the oobiesbay.

The show was too long. I love Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson. I liked the screenplay introductions, where Gwyneth and Ethan read from the nominated scripts. Uma Thurman's boobs were very distracting. I wish I had been in Los Angeles so I could go stalk Kate Winslet at the after parties. I love her, did I mention that?

Whew. I feel better now. I love the Oscars.

So anyway, I stayed up way too late watching my tape, and then I had to get up early for my shift this morning. I learned to do the deposit, which was fun, and then I had three luxurious hours free, which normally I would spend in class.

I never realized how much time three hours is before. I was able to go home, lounge around, check email, take a shower and watch a bunch of trashy daytime TV before I had to go back to work. I was going to go for a bike ride, but I was worn out. Just plain too exhausted to move.

Well that, and Jerry Springer had a brother who got his half-sister pregnant, because while they were dating, their mother didn't tell them they were related. And Celine Dion was on Oprah, and she seems sweet, but seriously, she talks about her "miracle" baby as if he is the second coming. It's riveting.

Then I went back to work and worked on tips. Which aren't finished. On the plus side, I will be getting a fat paycheck next week with my increase reflected, I hope. But on the minus side, god damn. I am ready for a break. People with kids and real jobs: I have no idea how they do it. Where do they find the time?

Um, I just realized I'm spending my evening taking webcam pictures of myself with a stuffed duck. I think I just answered my own question, right there.

"Oh god, there's Benicio. Come over here and let me lick you. I love you. I lick you. Beniiiicio. Oh, swoon. What is it about that guy that makes him so hot? He's not even good looking and he has scruffy hair. "