All in good time.

Goodness - y'all have been eager for the follow-up to Monday's post. I apologize for the delay - however, it is Birthday Week. For those of you unaware, typical B.W. activities include, but are not limited to, taking off work (even if only figuratively), tanning, journaling, reflecting, reveling in the newly published hypocrisy & shame of super-conservatives and the State of South Carolina (not to mention hiking enthusiasts worldwide), blackberry messaging and shopping - natch. I've done all of the above, and now, I think its time to finish up my initial Birthday Week chronicle, since you've all been waiting with bated breath.

To catch up those of you who have stumbled upon this bit of deliciousness - in my last post, I was detailing my lamentations, etc. before I turn twenty-five. I came up with one true regret. To my best friends and millions of readers - I'd like to start by thanking you for your guesses. I received a wide variety of Facebook messages, e-mails and texts regarding what each of you surmised this so-called regret to be. In reading these comments and thoughts, I laughed and cried - mostly because they were such outlandish suggestions. On Tuesday night, I even received a text from an old (2:00am) boo who lovingly said "I know that regret wasn't me. You're welcome!" . . . Clearly, I've taught him well, and no, you're welcome, darling.

So, to come one step closer to almost-ending your suspense (I totes feel like a straight version of Ryan Seacrest with way better blonde highlights) let's crack open our Merriam Webster just to verify we are all, in terms of meaning, on the same page. At first glance, Merriam defines the word regret to mean "sorrow caused by circumstances beyond one's control." False. IDK about y'all but every time I've felt regret its come up in a situation that causes me to say "Fuck, I regret not studying for this test." Yes, I'm sorrowful I'll probably have to make up some ridiculous excuse to my professor with fake tears and all, but there is an understanding that it was obvi my fault, and even though I don't admit this often (ever) but the only thing "out of my control" in those situations is the fact that sixth street bars close at 2:00 am. So, I'm not quite sure that is the correct phrasing, but, the fact that its regretful that every teacher I've ever had has mislead me to that word's true definition, I'll continue.

I am a firm believer in using what you've got, and I try to keep that in mind at all times. Knowing what you all know about me, many of you are aware of my high, real-life dreams and aspirations, and are cognizant of their true wide-reaching, well-rounded nature (because, as one of my favorites says, "Life is about money, cash and hoes" . . . + well-rounded-ness). So while, yes, I wish I would have gone to Africa in college, I wish I would have totes eliminated the stigma associated with sexually transmitted diseases, and facilitated more open discussions in regards to the fact that women have drastically higher HIV+ rates than men, in most cases, through no fault of their own. But the thing is, darlings, that can, and will, still be done. I don't regret those things because I currently am working on them. Not 24/7, like I used to, but, I have a sort-of full time job, motherfuckers. So, until Hope-rah calls me up (or Chels) . . . I have to (wait for it to come full circle) work with what I've got.

To be honest, I don't ever think its too late for anything. Finally paying off my student loans? Okay, I can't pretend, I paid for Texas straight cash. Oh - apologizing to Gymnasty for telling him that he had "a bad mouth, a bad attitude and a baby on the way" in response to his failure to remember Hypnotiq to my apartment one evening in 2004? Sure, I apologized via text just five minutes ago!

One thing, however, that I can't re-do, or do at all anymore, invades the quiet hours I lie awake, mulling over what should've been; and what so could have been. Even though it wasn't out of my control, per se - I have learned the true meaning of "regret" because of this missed opportunity . . . filming and submitting a "Real World" audition tape.

I know, I'm sure you all saw that coming. But, think about it. I mean, if fucking Amaya can get on that shit (not to mention any of the other horrible cast members from the 34820 seasons) - I was a shoo-in. Plus, Amaya was Jewish - and whiny, and not that cute, and she liked that guy with a subtle (not that subtle) lisp and a dopey exterior - Colin. What the fuck. I saw those ho's filming in Austin - boring. But I digress. I don't need to bash others to boost myself - a look in the mirror is more than enough.

So, there you have it. For those of you who were home-schooled (I hope I don't have the displeasure of knowing any of you) or a Jehovah Witness (or Mormon for that matter) - you have to submit your application prior to your 24th birthday.

Damnit. We all know I so would have gotten fame and fortune on that shit - and, in keeping with my track record, not pregnant. While I list a few assets I would've offered to the show - I want you to put on Jennifer Lopez's hit "I'm Real" to play in the background. Adorable? Check. Hilarious? Check. Formerly straddling the line between alcohol dependence and addiction? Check. Able to drink a Long Island Ice Tea in under 3 seconds? Duh. Eagerness to hook-up with multiple boys(in one night)- thereby resolving my "Daddy Issues" and showing the world my "self worth"? Of-fucking-course. Plus, I can cry on cue. In addition, I obvi can totally hold my own, make fucking amazing Eggs Benedict, can be really fucking loud, and, when drinking (which my goal is always to blackout) I can be dared (told) to do anything (Listerine or otherwise). Gah, I've gotta stop listing the reasons I would have been the impetus for the first "Real World" Emmy.

I need to desperately take a Crystal Light & Rum break. Don't get used to this inside look into my heart of stone. They say once you open up your heart to one person, you end up letting everyone in - wasn't that shit in "Beaches" - I mean it is so Bette Middler. Anyway - that statement, in my case, is false. I had a teacher in high school, who, in between sips from her vodka-filled water bottle and Bill Cosby clips would always say: "Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do but don't get ya anywhur." (That is dialectical, duh.) Totes true, but, in my case, by "worrying" I mean "possessing emotions."

I think all of this is best said by George Villers, 1st Duke of Buckingham (and also 1st "Duke" of King James I - if you get what I'm saying, which, I hope you do. Its okay - I'm liberal.):

"Methinks I see the wanton hours flee,
And as they pass, turn back and laugh at me."

In summation, drats! Thanks for nothing, Chronos! (aka Father Time)