Oh my god, people. Don't get me started. Okay -- I'm started. Front page of all the newspapers, right under the headline that I wore lipstick to work on Friday, in 60-point type: "COLD SPELL blasts the Northeast!!!!" Holy shit -- it's snowing? In Massachusetts? In the WINTER? What's going on here?!
I don't know why this takes everyone by surprise each year. And I don't know why when someone comments on the cold and I say simply, "It's winter," I get an offended glance. I hate polite elevator discussions.
The fruit guy wasn't in the subway today. No bananas for me. His absence made me sad.
Boys wearing jewelry is sexy. I don't know what it is, but there's something about thin bracelets and shiny silver rings that turns me on. Maybe I was a crow in a past life.
Does anybody need a piano? I'll let it go for $500. I can't fit it in my Altima. It's pretty and it sounds nice. You'll have to pick it up though -- especially after the ordeal I went through in July.
I have Monday off so I will be spending an additional day in NYC after the Los Halos show, which buys me more time to find that perfect deck of Tarot cards that I'm still searching for. After the realization that I will not, in fact, be made a millionaire by relocating to Seattle, I booked my tickets on the Chicken Bus for $20 round trip to NYC. I have such issues surrounding the Chinatown bus. It's been a toss-up between supergood and horribly inconvenient and uncomfortable.
Last time on my way there, I ended up sitting next to a guy who was -- and I'm not exaggerating -- six foot seven. It was the last available seat, and I'm like, who gets more legroom? Usually, at six foot one, I take the cake in that competition. But I spent the whole ride in fetal position since the passenger in front of me decided to recline for a full night's sleep. On these trips, I just end up taking a handful of Dramamine so I don't barf and passing out with my face squished against the window. Someone wakes me up when we get to Chinatown where I peel my cheek from the puddle of drool. Then I can't walk or speak for a good hour or more, until I've at least had a cup of coffee. Michael always remains good natured through the whole thing.
Someone raised the issue about community food being a giant bowl of contamination -- which I had not previously thought about. I'm already paranoid enough to constantly be packing a bottle of industrial strength hand sanitizer. Today I'm taking Vitamin C and Echinacea to ward off whatever beasts I contracted at that party Saturday night. And I can assure you there were many. And they were wearing leather pants and purple velvet capes. *shudder*
Fucking A with the Rilo Kiley show sold out. I hate my life.
I think I need more time in front of the Happy Lite®.
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