When I win tonight's $138,000,000 lottery drawing, I will:

-Buy every roommate I have had since I was 16 an apartment building that they can live in and rent rooms from. This is to dilute as much as possible the asshole tendency amongst landlords. (My own landlords have been fine, in case any of you are reading this.)

-Purchase a small cottage somewhere in Finland or northern Sweden. Perhaps a villa in the Alps. This is for summer residence. Purchase a small cottage somewhere on the South Island of New Zealand. This is for winter residence.

-Spare no expense in avoiding hot weather for the remainder of my lifespan.

-Purchase the apartments immediately over everyone who ever failed to give me a job. These I will either keep empty or overpopulate with teenage ravers out of pure spite. No, I'm kidding. Or am I?

-Send each of my friends to the college of their choice.

-Buy my parents' apartment for them.

-Make overlarge campaign donations to the next Republican and Democrat candidates for President, then blow the whistle on them, thus paving the way for:

-my Campaign For the Election of Margaret Cho To Political Office. Bwahahahahahahaha. And after that, the world!

-Then, the long-awaited trip on the Trans-Siberian Express. Beijing, Xinjian, Lake Baikal, here I come!

Anyway, it's been a pretty uneventful couple of days. Got into an argument with Artist yesterday and said something rather thoughtless that I immediately regretted. My way of not letting my temper get the best of me usually consists of (a) finding a room (b) locking the door (c) reading until someone else is forced to ask me for something. You see, dear readers, deep down inside I'm a door slammer, to my great shame. I'm trying to work on it. It involves a lot of apologies and uncomfortable conversations.

I'm sort of trying to move to San Francisco now. I applied for a couple jobs last night after talking to former roommate J (who goes by Rabbit now. Go fig.) Rabbit said that life really is easier in SF, not nearly as many logistical difficulties, cheaper, friendlier. Slower pace. I drooled, hung up, and got on craigslist.

Other changes: Fulminous and I gave ourselves haircuts today, and discovered to our mutual horror that our hairlines are receding asymetrically. Both of us. We'd both noticed after our last haircuts that our temples have gotten just a few square centimeters bigger- not much, just a little- and then today discovered that our balding pates do not even have the courtesy to reveal themselves in an orderly fashion.

If I have to waste my lotto winnings on hair transplant surgery or Rogaine I'm going to be very upset. The words "Hair Club for Men" nauseate me with their willful illogic. I mean, do they call support groups for divorcés "Wife Club for Men?"

*Sigh.* It's actually kind of nice. Makes me feel like a badass, a little. See here, world, I've had twenty-two years of you, and you haven't killed me yet!

Repeat to self: it's actually kind of nice... it's actually kind of nice...