The universe likes to push on my belly like the Pillsbury Doughboy except I don’t emit a high pitched hoo-hoo tickle-giggle. My default noise is more of a guttural fucks-sake. This week in SOMEONE OUT THERE IS A TWISTED INDIVIDUAL is brought to you by my nutritionist leaving her practice for another state. I called to make a followup appointment as instructed only to find that she is moving on and