In Your Face, Hugh Hefner. You too, Pamela Anderson.

So that's it. My last show in DC is over. And it was a very fun show as well! Turns out it was a roast of sorts-with almost every comic that went on stage poking a little fun at me. Nothing says "everyone here in the comedy community respects and appreciates you" like joke after joke about my apparent alcoholism and inability to practice monogamy. I love you too, guys!!

It was actually a hoot. (Note: I don't think I've referred to anything as a "hoot" since I was 12 years old. I'm as worried as you are.) I tried some new stuff out on stage and it went over well. Great crowd, good vibe, and I got to ask Pete Bergin how his vagina was doing. Good guy, that Pete.

I ventured out to Bowie this past Sunday to beg assistance from Larry Poon and Nate Diamond regarding the work that needs to be done on my website. They agreed to help, but only after forcing me to watch 3 back-to-back episodes of MTV's "Made". I almost didn't make it.

I was talking about Christmas traditions with some co-workers yesterday, and one unfortunate person brought up the oranges she got in her stocking every year. Oranges! Mandarin oranges!!! That's terrible. You hear about people getting fruit in their stockings-but it's almost an urban legend. You don't think that ever really happens to anyone. It's like hearing about that really unlucky person who gets a giant tub of caramel popcorn delivered to their house every year from a relative or co-worker. Tubs of popcorn might be the new fruitcake. This country just might be that fat.

In our Christmas stockings, my sister and brother and I would always get candy, maybe a CD or book, and then a bunch of lottery tickets. We'd each get about 15 lotto tickets and scratch-offs, and we'd all go to the kitchen table after presents and scratch away and see if anyone won any money. According to my office-mate here at work, that's bizarre. But I think it's quite appropriate:

The holiday season is a time for dreams and wishes, right? What better way to celebrate the spirit of the season than to sit around the table with your family, ferociously attacking scratch-off after scratch-off, clinging to the desperate hope that the next ticket would be the money ticket. The ticket that would guarantee you enough cash that you could move away, buy a huge house, and never have to see any member of your family again. Enough money to write those judgemental bastards off altogether. Money that would guarantee you would never have to hear another phrase like, "Erin, maybe you should cut back on your drinking and get a job" or "You need money for a back-alley what?!?!". So much money that you could change your name, your face, your whole life-so as never to be associated with those smarmy, self-assured, condescending, increasingly demanding, high and mighty sonsabitches........

But then you're done with your scratch-offs and you realize all you've won is a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew at the gas station down the street; and you also realize that everything you were thinking privately, you were also voicing quite publicly. The inevitable awkward silence sets in, and you come to the realization that you have indeed "ruined another Christmas", just like your 3-year old nephew predicted you would the night before.

So my point is this: oranges suck as stocking stuffers. Lotto tickets don't seem to be a great idea for everyone either, so I guess my official holiday gift recommendation is chewing tobacco. Get the mint flavored Skoal-it's more festive.

Well, that's it for today. Oh, and if my 80's buddy is reading this: best of luck on the move back to Detroit, watch the bumps of Coke, and remember who the most important person in the world is: YOU.

And I left some money on the dresser for you. Nice.