I was going to write an entry. Really. During my barren, computerless month at home with the family, I developed concepts for several entries I would have liked to compose for you, the faithful reader. Trouble is, my brain moves a lot faster than my hand can scrawl. Plus, if I write everything out longhand, I just have to retype it anyway, and by the time I'm finished with that, I'm sick of whatever I wrote. Basically what I'm telling you is that the backlog of astounding entries I fantasized about as I drifted off to sleep on those December nights is fictional, or more accurately, nonexistent.

I planned to spend the last day of College University's winter break preparing a delightful anecdote fit for public consumption, but that plan, too, was failed when I ended up sleeping until 2:00 in the afternoon, by which time Passions had begun and stolen away my desire to entertain the masses. That show is hypnotic in its stupidity, and NBC can feel free to use that as a pullquote. Look for it in next week's TV Guide.

After my soap opera was over, I called my mom. She was excited to hear from me, even though I've only been gone a week, so that was nice. I had called to ask her if she'd found any videotapes I left behind after my holiday stay at the family ranch. Okay, perhaps it's not a ranch. Maybe it's a run-of-the-mill, 'home is where the heart is' kind of house with a basketball hoop in the driveway, tucked away in a well-kept subdivision not far from the local high school. And maybe the closest thing to a farm animal in residence at this so-called ranch is the forgotten family beagle, who really deserves a Golden Globe for Saddest Puppy Dog Eyes Despite Having Just Been Walked. But it sounds funnier if you call it the ranch.

I had discovered at around midnight the previous night that I'd misplaced a recent episode of Joan of Arcadia I wanted to rewatch, which led to my discovery of several other missing tapes. My mom said she hadn't seen any renegade VHS stowing away under the TV in the family room, so I told her to keep an eye out and bid her adieu. Do people actually say that though? I mean, when was the last time someone outside of a '40s movie said in total seriousness, "I bid you adieu"? It's just not done. Anyway, I said goodbye and told her I loved her and then I perused the phone book to find a listing for either Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys, though this quest for the missing tapes might require their collective efforts. Neither detective service was listed, so I tabled the matter until I can find a decent private investigator. Perhaps Jim Rockford is available.

At some point I logged on to the Internet to search for columnar inspiration, and that's when all hope of an entry disappeared into oblivion. I was heading south in the northbound lane of the Information Superhighway. I swear, the Internet exists for the sole purpose of distracting me. The rest of you are innocent pawns in an evil scheme perpetrated by the government to keep me from updating my website. Although, I wouldn't have a website if the Internet didn't exist, so how does that work? Hey, all I said was that it was an evil scheme. I didn't say it wasn't complicated.

While I navigated pages, read emails, played Tetris, downloaded songs from Sesame Street (the Elmopalooza album is not to be trifled with), checked rosters to see if I know anyone in my classes this semester, and generally squandered precious hours of my existence, my buddy list sprang to life. If the Internet is an evil scheme to distract me, instant messaging software is Plan B, an in-case-of-emergency clove of vampire-style garlic on the off chance that I update the website after all and can return to a normal, functional existence. Could you imagine if I was a vampire, though? That would suck. I guess I keep vampire-like hours. I tend to avoid the sunlight and sometimes if I get a hangnail, I'll suck on it to stop the bleeding. Oh my God, you guys. I'm a vampire. Cool.

Pat: Guess what, Rach?
Rachel: What?
Pat: I'm a vampire.
Rachel: What?
Pat: No, really. I can't be caught in sunlight, I eat blood...it's official.
Rachel: You eat blood?
Pat: Well, my own blood. Like, you know, when you get a hangnail.
Rachel: Why don't you just get a Band-Aid?
Pat: Because I didn't stab myself. It's just a hangnail and it stops bleeding almost right away.
Rachel: If you suck on it.
Pat: Right.
Rachel: Okay, but are you really a vampire if you only eat your own blood?
Pat: Hmm. This is true. I'd be scared to eat someone else's blood, what with all those pathogens and things.
Rachel: Yeah.
Pat: Okay, maybe I'm not a vampire. Are you a vampire?
Rachel: No.
Pat: That's good.
Rachel: I thought so.
Pat: Okay, now that I'm not a vampire, I'm going to burn a CD. Tell me some songs to download.

Round and round it goes, sometimes for hours. Instant messaging is a threat to the very nature of long-distance service. If everyone can talk to everyone else for the price of a local phone call, why memorize all those 10-10 numbers and comparison shop for a long-distance carrier? I'm surprised the telephone conglomerates haven't launched an all-out war on the instant messaging industry. I'd support them, because they're ridding the world of a menace, and that's always a noble undertaking. I could IM my entire buddy list and tell them to delete their instant messaging programs or fear reprisal from AT&T. Once I finish eradicating the universe of its dastardly IM capabilities, I will only have my online journal and my irate, abandoned readers to contend with. One nemesis at a time is plenty, thank you. Tell Sprint I'm on my way.

Someone got here by searching for: will not tell my grandma i'm gay And: all the frat boys took turns And: essay "let me graduate" And: Chrismas with Oreos cookies And finally: mark-paul gosselaar, smoker Reading: Still working on Dolly. Watching: Cheaper by the Dozen, which would have been a total waste of the price of admission if not for Tom Welling and a brief scene featuring Regis and Kelly. Listening to: The Damn Millionaires, the next big name in alt-country. Go, now. Go. Eating: Strawberry Philadelphia Cheesecake bars.