You wanna know the worst part? I NEVER LEARNED TO READ.

Watching Wayne's World on Comedy Central this afternoon, it suddenly occurred to me that my life is pretty much the plot of the movie.

Like Wayne, I have taken on a series of jo-jobs, nothing I'd call a career ("I have an extensive collection of nametags and hairnets"). I reluctantly still live at home ("which I admit is bogus and sad"). I, too, wear old concert t-shirts and jeans that are ripped at the knees, play loud music in my Mirth-Mobile, and describe people in terms of what flavor of ice cream they would be ("pralines and dick").

This is not a good realization. This actually might be the beginning of my downward spiral into madness. This is where I start collecting jars of my own urine on a mantel.

Scratch that. The beginning of my madness started when I realized that I'm every Mia Farrow character in every Woody Allen movie, when I clearly thought I was a Diane or Dianne.  If you're a Woody fan, you know what I'm talking about. Who wants to be whiny Mia Farrow? I don't. Does this mean I hate myself? I think upon realizing this I made my friend write down my impending suicide date on a post-it note. (FYI: it's June 30th).

However, back to my main point. When the plot of your life takes on the plot of a Lorne Michaels movie, you know you are doing something wrong. Basically, there's not much to your life.  You probably hang out with an obese friend a lot, enough for two movies worth of antics (Tommy Boy, Black Sheep). Or maybe you are a Catholic school girl who has never seemed to grow up and sniffs her armpits (Superstar). I suppose the one plus to leading a Lorne Michaels-produced life is that Will Ferrell will frequently make cameos (plus to me, minus to many).

I guess it could be worse. I could have a brother I go to clubs with and dance to Haddaway's "What is love?." Thus, I could have no plot at all.