The guy who lived in the apartment before us had cable television. His subscription has not yet expired, so one of my guiltiest pleasures has been reacquainting myself with MTV.

I have not had access to MTV since I lived in my parents' house--and that was many years ago. I'll never forget the day I came home from school and saw that we had cable. I flipped around until I found MTV. "Rosalita" by Bruce Springsteen was on, and I was immediately hooked. These were the days of Amuck in America. MTV showed only videos. Do you remember that? Of course you don't.

I was too young to buy albums or cassettes, so I would sit in front of the TV in our living room with a tape recorder. When one of my "choice" videos came on, I would press Play and Record and wave frantically to everyone in the room to let them know their silence is requested. The quality of my first mix tapes was shoddy. My dad was cutting grass during Sunday Bloody Sunday. The phone rang during The Girl is Mine. The dog barked during Take On Me. But it didn't matter. I was beginning to carve the musical interests that are still being whittled today. MTV introduced me to Joe Jackson, XTC, and Public Image Limited. I couldn't get enough. I DID want my MTV, damnit!

When I turn on MTV at this point in my life, I become a bit disheartened. I will never be able to bring guests into my kitchen and say, "This is where we get our eat on." I will never be told that I have a hot ghetto booty. No one will ever want to see me in those low-cut-so-I-better-shave-down-there pants. My house will never be as swanky as Mariah Carey's. (However, my underpants will ALWAYS be cleaner than hers, so there is the trade-off...)

Hi there. I'm 31. I take an allergy pill every night before I go to bed. I have nose spray in my medicine cabinet. My husband has a toe for a thumb. My cat has dandruff. I sometimes get eczema on my eyelids. I have read books selected by Oprah.

I used to know all of the words to the Beastie Boys' "Licensed to Ill". Does that count for something?

I know, I know. Time to settle down with some Fibercon and a multi-vitamin. God knows, it's almost bedtime.

Before the wedding, I often had dreams that involved being lost in a shopping mall ten minutes before the wedding was to start--and me with no dress or shoes. More often than not, I would grab a swanky short sequinced dress and any size 8 1/2s that would fit so that I could haul ass to the church and get myself hitched. In the dream, I would make it to the church right after the ceremony. (Yep. Jeff went through it without me...)

Now that we're over two months into the marriage, I'm having dreams of a different sort. My recurring dreams now consist of Jeff and I needing to renew our vows in front of all of the people who didn't get invited to the wedding the first time around. I decide to forget about the hair and cosmetic regiment, and although the re-wedding is to start in 10 minutes, I haven't even considered cleaning my dress--much less taking it out of its bag.

So here we are, 10 minutes before the re-wedding. My hair is a mess. My skin? Terribly dry and old-looking. I pull the dress out of the bag, and it's covered with blood. Big fist-sized spots of blood all over the back of the dress. Plus, now there's a swatch of maroon fabric sewn into the train. (As I'm dreaming, I always remark to myself, "When I wake up, I really should check to see if my dress had that maroon thing...) So, I put on the bloody dress, and I saunter all Courtney-Love-style down the aisle in front of a bunch of people I don't like. When I finally make it to Jeff, all of the diamonds from my ring fall out, and I'm left crawling all over the church floor. When I'm finished finding the diamonds, the church has emptied. The reception has been cancelled.

I took a nap this afternoon. The only dream I can recall involved me eating a bunch of brownies and drinking something called Maximum Code Red. It's a much happier dream...