“I have a compass on my button.”

Benito the Mouselini has a cousin. A big one. I purchased steel wool to close up the scary hole behind the bathtub. I can imagine Benito Grande wiggling his way up the walls to reach his soft little nose out his usual hole, only to have it scratched off like lamb through a meat grinder. [Heh. That one’s for you, V.]

But this is from the girl who caught her last mouse and released it in Prospect Park. So my vision of BG’s nose make me very, very anxious. Anyway.

The big guy came out to look around this morning as I was sitting in my living room, gulping down my first coffee of the day. He wiggled his way out the bathroom and ran straight to the front door, only to waggle his tail and turn the hell back around and go back down his hole. Can you hear the echo of my yelling: “Go, BG! Out the door! There’s a wide world out there!”

Yeah. So my TV is on because I’ve come across a guy who I think is my cousin hosting a show. No, like, really my cousin. He spells his last name differently, but he bears a striking resemblance to my father’s side, although I think he’s on my mother’s side, and I always thought he was a well-known chef, but this is a travel show, or maybe he’s a doctor, but I’m curious nonetheless. I should probably just put in a call to one of the parentals, but who needs that on a Monday.

(“If anybody tells me to get lost, I don’t have to worry cause I have a compass on my button,” my cousin is saying.)

I also do not need the chip in a cavity I have discovered this morning. So THAT’S what I tasted all crunchy last night. Ew. Fuck.

Oh, the midget got a ticket. Because my front license plate has disappeared. Sometime last week. Not that I would know, cause I never drive it. Anyone want a Saturn?

Fuck.