Has Sarah McLachlan gotten the memo that her song is a damned lie? Yeah, yeah, yeah...I've read all the Hallmark greetings that go hand in hand with someone sending you over the moon and head over heels...but obviously Miss Sarah ain't had herself a double crunchie dipped vanilla sundae courtesy of Mister Softee. Now THAT my friends...is some serious shit worthy of an ode to complete adoration. Warm weather and I aren't the best of friends, but we've come to a mutual peace treaty that kicked off once the familiar jingle rolled through a block near you. And speaking of taking ice cream over that dirty 4-letter word, a certain on-again/off-again brotha I like to peg as Mr. Thinks-He's-So-Big (wink @ my SATC addicts) just got his bootleg T-Mobile turned back on to relay the message I've been waiting all weekend to hear! He misses it. No, not me. Just it. I guess *it* just magically morphed into a separate entity...science is a muthasucka! After the silence became deafening (I could hear his boys yakkin' like a pack of hyenas in the background), he quickly added, "c'mon, you know I miss you...why you trippin?" as a futile attempt to add some K-Y to ease his head out of his ass. Why the hell is it so difficult for men to quit puffin' out their chest for the sake of appearances? It's not necessary to get all Brian McKnight on me, but hang up the "I'm too proud to admit I'm anything less than a hardrock" act every now and then, will ya? NP: Kelis, Get Along With You. "Don't need no paper/Don't need no pencils/Don't need no love letters/Cause I just wanna get along with you"... Let the congregation say: yay-men.