Hi. My name is Holly. And this is my seventh day without a cigarette. I've successfully passed through the irritable phase of quitting without giving anyone the finger. I did the math: I will save $200 a month. I picked up a nice lollipop habit to help me through the rough times. I made it!

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Damn Home Depot and all of their commercials. As soon as I think the house looks great, there they are. New colors. Better lighting. And flowers. Tons of beautiful flowers calling to me, asking for my help. "We want to be on your deck," they say. And who am I to ignore their pleas?

And I already have flowers blooming. As soon as I thought they were dead, they pushed through the soil and showed their little green faces, delicate features leaning toward the sun, tanning. And they're crowded, shoving each other to the side, calling me an idiot for dropping too many seeds into the little brown squares, doubting their ability to grow.

At this time last year, on impulse, I purchased plants. Lots of them. I imagined a porch filled with flowers, bought two gigantic pots and believed that I could cram tomatoes and green peppers on the tiny back porch of this townhouse. The flowers died after two weeks. The tomatoes sucked up so much water that it  was nearly impossible to quench their thirst, and the green peppers... oh those green peppers. I didn't drill a hole in the bottom of the planter and they went smelly on me. Like a fart in the air that would not go away.

This year, on impulse, I thought, "I should grow flowers from seed." And I did. I was careful. And then I left the little dirt filled egg crates on the cold floor in the garage. After reading online that the seeds needed someplace warm to grow, I brought them inside, to the top of this townhouse, in my office, my loft. And everyday that I come up here, I stare at the dirt and wonder when the hell these suckers are going to start to show their true colors. It takes so long! And all the while I'm wondering if they are dead underneath that dirt. Am I waiting for nothing? Clemenza thought that dirt on the floor of the house was wonderful. She stuck her little nose into one section of the crate and buried it deep, sniffing for life. Then she quit. And I am left with dirt on the floor and a dog that doesn't speak English and still have no idea whether the seeds are growing or not. The anticipation is killing me!

I swore that I'd never do it. I swore up and down that vampires scared the hell out of me and that I'd never watch any blood-sucker show or read any books of the night, like Twilight (really, I say Twilight because of the kids that play the roles in the movie. Look what playing a vampire has done to that girl... she always looks miserable and like sunlight really does boil her over). I digress.

Until Sunday.

HBO On-Demand has every single episode of True Blood. So I gave the first episode a shot and apparently I adore anything with a love story.

After three days, I am embarrassed to say that I've watched the whole first season. And now I want to read about vampires, werewolves and shapeshifters. Thanks alot, HBO. My list of addictions is about to exceed my list of good qualities. On the plus side, I am learning... about the dark side.