As I wiped the tears from my face after a particularly normal episode of Glee, my brother walked into my bedroom. (Shut up. Move along. Nothing to talk about here.) He gave me some information on a free e-book for my Nook.

He valiantly ignored my sniffles. "I figure that if you don't like it, well, it's free, so . . ."

"BAHLETED!" I shouted. "Which sounds like bleeded. Which sounds like bleated."

"Which sounds like Panic at the Disco."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

On Saturday, I attended a graduation party for one of the next-door neighbors. His mother is my office roomie (and a great friend), and she somehow talked me into memorizing all the lyrics to "One Week" for this event. And singing it with her in front of people. And then doing the Macarena with her in front of more people.

I do not remember the Macarena being twelve hours long.

So anyway, this is basically your cue to avoid me like the plague for the next six months unless you want to hear me singing about Chickity China, the Chinese chicken. While dancing like it's 1999.

Heather from Dooce.com occasionally mentions that being the valedictorian of her high school class hasn't really paid off that much in her adult life. You know what else rarely pays off as an adult? Spelling bee skills.

Today, I got to prove that I could spell "Massachusetts" without cheating. (Contrary to popular belief, that has nothing to do with the fact that my boyfriend just graduated from a college near Boston). Of course, I think I would shoot myself if I couldn't properly name and spell all fifty states.

The real fun will come when someone asks me to spell "onomatopoeia" without cheating. THEN MY LIFE WILL HAVE MEANING.

So yeah. Get on that, adult world.