Aliens!

Dear Diary,

I read on the Internet that aliens may not even exist after all. What?! Now, all I have to look forward to is spending the rest of my life with boring, judging, jealous humans. What's the point? All the promise of E.T., the Transformers, Alf - all spoiled by those shallow scientists who think they look cool in their lab coats. They're nothing special. I have my own lab coat that I wear to clubs and bars. When I accessorize with my chemistry set, no one knows the difference.

When work piles up at the office, I often pull out my 3-ring binder and continue my project of preparing for when I meet my first alien. I can't wait to reveal to them that I have been searching across this entire Universe for a friend who likes the same shows as me, and the same Bratz characters and the same liver-based, flavored snacks. Someone who wouldn't mind paying for dinner once in a while. Someone who isn't afraid to express how they feel about me. Aliens are much more advanced than we are, and probably have the same tastes and dislikes as me. I hope my alien likes the color periwinkle. I won't judge him, because that's my favorite color too.

I need an alien who won't talk crap behind my back, won't laugh at me while pointing in my face or have a fondness for wedgies in the office. I need an alien who does dishes, cleans the washroom and can travel through time for when I'm late for work. I need an alien who can take it when I project all my guilt, insecurity and inner rage onto him. I need an alien who'll forgive me when I embezzle from his account. Or who can go back to his planet when I'm sick of him, and then fly back at a moment's notice if I need to talk or ask a question about my VCR.