My blog looks exactly like my life right now. Unfinished. Messy. Disproportionate.
Cloudy.
I'm just kidding, there's no clouds on my blog design [yet]. There are some weird birds on the upper right corner though. What is that about? They're ugly, right? I gotta get rid of them. Right after I find 8 hours of my time to work on HTML coding my blog layout. Right. That'll of course be after I retile my roof and dust my furniture. Dusting is so far-fetched. It's practically magic. It's practically floo powder.
SPEAKING of floo powder, I have been thinking about it all week. Holy shit! Naturally, I just googled floo powder (as a journalist, one must research what they write about. I'm snorting journalistically) and did anyone know there is a Harry Potter Wikipedia? Can I get a 'what the fuck' or WHAT?!
Back to floo powder. The other day I was trying to imagine how mice could access an apartment where there are virtually no visible holes for them to enter. And I was all like, well obviously it's magic. They are obviously using floo powder to enter through the oven, because we don't have a fireplace. Obviously.
Another thought. People who use the phrase "I promise you." What a dumb thing to say. Clearly they're unreliable.
By the way, how funny is that icon I've posted at the top of this entry? I was going to draw my own cartoon with a similar sentiment earlier, but then I thought somebody must have already thought of this. My assumption was correct.
What else, what else. Dusty is in town with a couple friends, namely Kelly. We had quite a pleasant adventure last night. Two hours on a yacht(ish) with wine and cheese at sunset on the Hudson followed by a late dinner at my favorite Thai place in West Midtown. Tried something new and it blew my mind, in an exquisite way. I am also gearing up for tonight's 7-course meal at I Trulli. We shall feast on hand-made pasta ears with rabbit ragu and braised octupus among other things. The word octupus reminds me that I need to start writing down potential porn movie titles. Octopussy. Anyone?! Ah, yess. Picture me stroking a beard like Jafar. Not my own beard. Just literally stroking Jafar's beard. And looking at you.
In all seriousness though, this summer is hot. And not in the Paris Hilton way. More like in the Al Roker sense.
I wish the news involved an astrology section where they predict your weekend. That would be fantastic. Because I really want to know a couple things about my future, and my weekend.
I can't stand when people don't catch an Arrested Development reference I'm making. It really burns me up. When I say 'illusion', you say 'Gob'. When I say 'marry' you say 'me'. When I say 'go', you say 'eagles'.
Ever get really nervous that you might have killed your roommate's plants and herbs because you forgot to water them for 8 days?
Yeah, me neither.
Starting the week after next, I am going to have a lot of free time. Like, too much time. If you know me, you know I prefer being overwhelmingly busy. So, the thought of excessive free time gives me slight anxiety. Think of all the time I'll have to overthink things and procrastinate! Eek.
Today I've been thinking about what if I was one of those really unnecessarily positive/optimistic people. I mean, I'm vaguely optimistic and always hope for the best. However, I'm no Stuart Smalley. I tried to imagine if my mindset was that 'everything is always going as planned' and 'everything will work out perfectly.' Besides the fact that I feel that mindset is unrealistic, naive and illogical, I really pondered how much better I would feel on a daily basis. Nothing could touch me. Literally. I would be unbreakable. Because I would think it was all going to work out no matter what. However, what do those people do when cold hard truth slaps them in the face and makes a poopy mess all over their rainbowy expectations? How do they cope? I am truly wondering. Perhaps I should ask one of them. I only know about two of those people currently and neither of them live in New York. There has to be a happy medium between those people and me. I intend to find it . . . this summer. And retile my roof. And dust.
UNT
