One of you gave me the name of lit agent Kate Garrick a while back. I think she's someone's relative or friend; I'm thinking it was a reader in Virginia maybe?

(Aly I know you gave it to me yesterday too. . .)

Anyway, whoever it was, please get in touch again and remind me what the connection is.

Cindy P. is it you? Short term memory loss. But I need to get this fucker in the hands of someone before my tit surgery next Friday in case I like die. Which is a distinct possibility. In which case, I'd be able to go in peace knowing that my main mission in life, to publish a book, has been accomplished. Cause I know my mother ain't going to know how to find my manuscript and go to 49 different publishers like John Kennedy Toole's mama. My mom doesn't even know who Bob Marley was for Christ sakes.

The private jet thing ain't happenin before next Friday, but if I hustle and if I find a BRILLIANT, tenacious, ballsy agent who works as fast as I do, well then that's good enough for me.

I'm PMSing so hardcore right now and I just had to drive my beau up north, which should have taken 1/2 hour and instead took an hour thanks to these FUCKING IDIOTIC GODDAMN SOUTH FLORIDA DRIVERS WHO CLOG UP 95 FOR AN HOUR JUST TO RUBBERNECK. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE. JUST KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD IN FRONT OF YOU AND LET THE GODDAMN PIGS DO THEIR FUCKING JOBS.

I was so pissed I flipped off about 10 cars, including a cab driver who pulled in front of me on Alton. He made the mistake of pulling up next to me and rolling his window down. So he got the finger plus the added bonus of a "FUCK YOU!" You guys should see how these cabbies drive down here. They make NY cabbies look like freaking Einstein.

FUCKING PMS. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Being a woman fucking sucks sometimes. Am I right ladies?