Friday Five (a few days late):

1. Name five things in your refrigerator: organic eggs, a pound of unsalted butter (for the coconut cake we’re bringing to Thanksgiving), a partial 12-pack of Diet Coke, bagged salad, leftover chicken stew (I make some excellent chicken stew).

2. Name five things in your freezer: approximately 14 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, asparagus (I’m the only one who likes it), 8 organic whole chickens, brussels sprouts (I’m the only one who hates it), ground turkey.

3. Name five things under your kitchen sink: Brillo pads, extra sponges (the ones where one side is spongy, and the other side has the scrubby green thing on it), oxy-clean, a bag of bird seed, and a half-full bag of potting soil.

4. Name five things around your computer: my "how much shit could a dipshit dip if a dipshit could dip shit?" mug, the series premiere of Felicity (I never saw it, and bought it recently on Ebay), a lovely gift Melissa got for me in Ireland (more about that later), a lovely gift Athena sent me (more about that later as well), and the stuffed mosquito Moira bought in Alaska and sent for the spud, which I stole and claimed as my own.

5. How do you plan to spend your weekend?: I planned to spend it mostly on my ass, and by god, that’s exactly what I did. I wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt – both hugely oversized – and lolled about not doing much but reading and surfing.

So, as I mentioned above, I got a lovely present from Melissa, who recently got back from Ireland:

Like I told Melissa, she could have scoured every store in Ireland and not found anything better! It’s even got the price tag on it, with the price in pounds, and everything! (Like, what, they’re going to have the price in American dollars? Duhhh).

And on the very same day that I received the face cloth in the mail, I also received something from the wonderful Athena, who knows that I LOVE the unexpected mail, and also somehow knew that there was an empty spot on the wall by my desk, and sent me this:

It was a VERY good mail day, believe you me. I also got a couple of Christmas cards. Two days before Thanksgiving, and I’m already getting the Christmas cards. How cool is that?

Sunday night, I dreamed that I was in Survivor, and I cheated.

CHEATED. How the hell can you cheat on Survivor, for the love o’ god?

Apparently I stole a Jeep from the camera crew and went on a joyride. We were filming in Florida, because god knows how dangerous and rough it is on the beaches of Florida, oh yes. So I stole the Jeep and went joyriding, and at some point another crew Jeep caught up with me and made me stop.

Mark Burnett was pissed. PISSED. He was throwing his hat on the ground and yelling at me at high volume.

Damn Mark. Never wants to have any fun.

So they kicked me off and claimed that stealing the Jeep was cheating, because there was some stupid clause in the contract about not stealing the crew’s Jeep.

Like I read the fucking thing before I signed it.

And when I got back to the states – oh wait, Florida IS a state. Why did we refer to it as getting back to the states in my dream? Odd. Anyway, when I got back to the states, they had me on The Early Show, which they always do with the castaways, and all is well. We’re chattin’, we’re laughing, we’re having a good ol’ time, when BRYANT FUCKING GUMBEL turns to me.

"How long have you been having an affair with Ann Robinson?" he says out of the blue.

"Huh?" I say, thinking this is a joke, half-smiling. But Bryant? Not kidding. Dead serious.

"We have it on good authority that you’ve been having an affair with Ann Robinson," he tells me. (She’s the host of The Weakest Link, if you didn’t know)

"What the fuck?" I say, and the people behind the scenes lose their shit because I said "fuck" on a live show. "I’ve never MET the woman, Bryant!" I say.

But you know how it is. Once someone says you’re having an affair with someone, the rest of the world assumes it’s true. Especially if you’re a CELEBRITY like the only one who ever got kicked off Survivor for cheating. It’s on the covers of all the tabloids, even People does an investigation of it (ie, reprints all the bad things people have ever said about me), and Fred gets pissed, and Ann acts all guilty and won’t deny it, damn her, and my life goes straight to hell in a handbasket sometime soon before I wake up.

This is what I want to know – why the hell did my subconscious decide I needed to be accused of having an affair with Ann Robinson? What’s that all about, you s’pose?

Damn subconscious.