i am *probably* not a serial killer.

But if you asked Diane at the Kroger I frequently shop at, she might tell you differently.

So, after returning from yet another weekend spent in at a trashy casino, I decided to head to the grocery store to get my little ducks in a row for the coming work week.

Other than the fact that I did not have to yell at any patrons who feel it is their right to cut in front of me in the Express Lane (with more than 15 items), it was a pretty standard trip: milk, eggs, salt & vinegar Pringles, and a box of wine. You know, the usual.

Anyway, if you've kept up with my blog, you probably know I am in a feud with Ellen Paige by starting a national craze called "wigging." By 'national', I mean me. And by 'craze', I mean I'm crazy.

If efforts to keep this ball rolling, I once again went 'wigging' with one of my new most favorite people of all time. The results were once again flawless:

Well, almost flawless.

My friend may or may not have come out of the entire incident with a small bald spot because I never warned anyone (or myself) that when 'wigging' one should be extra careful when dealing with expensive and beautiful artificial hair.

I knew what I had to do: take this fallen hair extension as a relic from an incredible adventure. Like a movie stub from a great first date... or your first date's watch.

I tucked the little lovely into my back pocket and began thinking of names. Name deciding quickly turned into more drinking, so I pretty much forgot about it...

Cut to a week later and I'm where this story began: at the Kroger, standing in front of Diane, searching for the nearest emergency exit.

As I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, the hair extension fell out onto the counter. Only, my relic (along with my jean shorts they were in) had been through the washer and dryer a few times. It now resembled something a cat would throw up or something you would find in the drain at a trucker stop.

Diane and I looked at each other, and I swiped my Visa and grabbed the hair faster than a tranny on a crack pipe. I avoided any further eye contact and ran to my car.

Also, when I got carded for my wine, I mistakenly handed her my hotel room key. I'm fairly certain Diane has alerted the local authorities as well as the hotel staff of the Holiday Inn Express of Durant, Oklahoma.

In conclusion, my next blog post might be coming from prison... I'll let you know if it is anything like Oz.