To faggots, lezzies, dykes, cross dressers, too, to me, to me, to me, to you and you and you

It's time to clear out some bric-a-brac from my brainpan. It might be five things. Or not.

• If you accidentally set the microwave to 50 minutes instead of five minutes, and then start reading freakgirl and don't notice that it's running and running and running, after 15 minutes or so twelve oz. of broccoli and cauliflower will dessicate down to the volume and consistency of a healthy loogy. Did I eat it anyway?
• Nearly everyone has mad love for the iPod, but mine grows daily deeper when he shuffles through all my Christmas tunes and pipes them throughout the house (and yard!). Until now, I never realized that I have 205 holiday morsels. You heard me.
• Call me cynical but I tend to fall on the other side of Phoebe in the 'no truly altruistic act' debate. I brought many bags of non-perishable food items to the local St. Vincent de Paul's mission because it makes me feel good. Is it still a good thing if only some of my reasons are virtuous? I know some of y'all won't like a Catholic organization, but the food goes directly to the homeless and hungry in our own community.
• Speaking of Catholic things, over the weekend my niece (8 y.o) was questioning the existence of St. Nicholas. For those unfamiliar, St. Nicholas brings presents on Dec. 6 to all the good lil' girls and boys, provided they are acolytes of the holy and apostolic church, of course. Niece thinks he's dead and her Mom is providin'' the swag. Astute, I say. I mentioned this to a dude at work. He reported that when his son asked who St. Nick is, he told him, "He's Santa's poorer brother. That's why the presents aren't as good. And instead of a sleigh, St. Nick rides around in a rusted out van, so be on the lookout for him." The kid is five! That's hilarious/borderline abusive, no? Now, in my head, St. Nick looks like Chris Farley.
• Over the weekend, I saw Rent. Again. I liked it even better the second time. Hence the last few post titles have only a tenuous (at best) connection with the content. They're just what I'm singing in my head. Later, I went to Linens-N-Things, despite the fact that I despise how they spell their name. I was in Nate's section, surrounded by all his products and all those large head shots of him and his perfect hair and pristine complexion, and jesus help me, I swooned. Laid right down on one of his beds for a second. Now that's a faggy evening, Randy, no matter how you slice it. I bought towels. Why won't he offer the duvet I want in queen size? Anyone care to bite on that one?
• You know I'm gay, right? I'm not bi. And I'm certainly not questioning. Still, a few times last night during the Victoria's Secret thing I found myself thinking, "Damn, I'd really like to bury it in her." Thoughts?