Hey! First thing’s first: I want to thank Ms. Cam Ostrow for making her shoes so impossible to fill. I’ve been growing my toenails for forty-seven days now and rubbed my feet in the boys’ locker room drains to contract a nice batch of athlete’s foot, but her shoes are still huge. Really though, she’s the greatest.

To everyone else: Hey so uh, I have a question: How much does a polar bear weigh? Oh you don’t know? Well I don’t know either, but it’s enough to break the ice … so hey thurr. I’m Ariel. 7’2”. 9938 lbs. (Thanks to my BFFL, cookie dough.) I don’t like walks on the beach of any length, but I do likes slicing earthworms and collecting ear wax and toenails fo’ lyfe.

If you’re thinking, “GOLLY, best pick-up-liner ’10,” well then, you’re right. If you’re also thinking “I need to stop reading right now and go find this girl of my dreams,” join the club. I hear they’re making jackets.

I’m not writing this column, however, to broadcast my dating profile. I would be wasting my time considering I already have a humongo waiting list. I hang out with multiple guys on the weekend: my Dad AND my brother. Shawingg!

I’m actually writing this to publicly announce my most recent darling, Fred Mark Lee. Better known, of course, as FML.

If you have never spent both weekend nights gazing into the deep sparkling eyes of fmylife.com, then you have not lived. If, however, you’re at the other end of the spectrum, you’re like me: Some mornings you wake up with the squares of your keyboard imprinted onto your cheek. You have no idea how you got there. When you try and sit up, drool has glued your face to the keys; you have to peel yourself free.

Fear not, young one. Take it from me, an FA member (fmylife anonymous. Been sober three minutes now) You’re just feeling the love. And love is pain.

One peculiarity I’ve always found with the site, though, is in its title. Eff My Life? This name implies that the bloggers find their situations unfortunate, when obviously this is impossible. I mean, most posts are regarding kids catching their parents in, shall we say, promiscuous acts, and or vice versus. Thus, clearly the more suitable name is “Jealous My Life.” I remain boggled to this day.

All this talk of FML has made me think about starting my own site called fmysemi. Semi’s a grand ole time, but I want to share some advice. First, make your date check his/her calendar. Learn from my mistake: All the plans were finalized with my Dad and me — my dress matched his tie, etc. All was dandy until my Dad remembered he had to walk the neighbor’s ferret the same night. Needless to say, I was heartbroken.

Second, avoid the following conversation that occurred between my date and me: Date: Ariel, do you have a date to semi? Me: No. My dad just bailed last night. Date: Sigh, do you wanna just go together then? Me: Crickey! That’s, like, the best thing I’ve ever heard! Date: Yeah, everyone has dates already. I came back to school one Monday and EVERYONE was taken … True story. I heard he asked his neopet and a wooden chair before me. Sweet.

A final note regarding fmls: They are meant to be typed, not spoken. Please don’t ruin their beauty by saying “fml” aloud. Honestly, it sounds like you don’t know the alphabet order when you sound it out: eff em el. As a devout fml-ist, I get pretty upset. Just a PSA: if you say this around me, EXPECT A KICK IN THE EARLOBE.

Holy gorilla! You might be thinking. This Ariel chick is violent. Not true. I only reduce myself to such violence on two occasions. The other is actually a bit worse and warrants a kick and a plucking of a nose hair, but I usually refrain. It is the unspeakable act of reminding your teacher it’s a long block. Haven’t you read the unwritten code of students everywhere!? But that’s it. Otherwise I consider myself pretty reasonable.

K. I gee2gee It’s 4 a.m. on a Tuesday and I have to get home from my night out. But this date’s been magical. (It was a date, right?)