You know how in Love Actually, there's that cheesy line "Love, actually, is all around us." ...I believe it.
Today, as I mosied to the doctor's office, I saw a pink envelope at my feet. I wondered if it was perhaps a letter somebody had been fired with, the "pink slip," or maybe just an overdue bill. It could have been either, really, and there were scrawled what looked like some toll-free numbers on the back.
But in a bigger scrawl. And sending a much more direct message:
I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW
There was no "dear so and so" there was no "from so and so". Just the message. Loud and clear and on the back of a pink envelope. And laying in the sidewalk along Smith St. I hoped that whoever wrote it meant it. I hoped that whoever received it appreciated it. I hoped that maybe it was just on the sidewalk so that love could be spread.
And then, as I arrived home from the pharmacy, I noticed our mail had come. I rifled through it, as I always do, hoping it wasn't all junk or all for Emily and I saw a yellow envelope. It was the kind that looked like maybe it was sent to "Valued SC Driver" from Geico. But it wasn't. In fact, it was addressed to me.
Consider, for a second, my utter surprise. I never get mail. I figured that Geico had learned my name and not learned that I didn't drive. Then I saw that it was from the American Telegram Company. People still send telegrams? They do.
MOIRA STOP
(Stop what? Though I.)
I LOVE YOU STOP
(Oh, right, I think that's how they signify a new sentence in a telegram.)
IRAQ IS WHACK STOP
(Nice rhyming skills.)
CAROLINE STOP
(Why are we both being commanded to stop?)
Sure, it was a love note from my sister and not from a mister. But I'm still loved. Maybe more than I'll ever know.
(And you probably are, too.)
STOP
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Could you be loved?
Today I frantically searched my room for my insurance card. It wasn't in the check box where I keep cards that I don't deem important enough to be in my wallet (why don't I find my insurance card worthy? why!). So I looked in the folder that holds things that are old, my Horizon bank folder where I keep most of my writing, pictures, and aha my car insurance card from a policy I no longer hold for a car that I no longer drive. Of course.
As I went through the writing I found the oldest fiction pieces to be from 2004. That is five years ago! Some of them I had to throw away, even though I loved the writing, because the topic made me get all huffy and puffy and I don't want to blow this pretty house of cards down. Some of them I kept because, despite the topic, they were too sweet and terrible to throw away (a particular piece has me channeling Tom Robbins in all the wrong ways- I'm sure he'd cringe at the words). Some of them were so depressing that I kept them just to remind myself that I'm in a better place.
But then I found some things even older. The autobiography I wrote of myself in the 8th grade, for example. But even better, a list of qualities that I wished for in a potential boyfriend in the 7th grade. This isn't a list of qualities I wanted in seventh graders. This was what I wanted in a man, in the man, in the love of my life. It is long, it is so severely outdated, and it is hilarious.
Take a gander.
*My Man* [Yes, I did title it this and I did use stars to outline the title. All punctuation, shorthand, etc. is maintained from the original in the best way I knew how.]
Funny that I had, by my count, sixty-four points when I was 11 and three points when I was 18. I wonder how many I'd have now, but I think I realize that my high standards don't come from a list. Now, if only I can figure out where they do come from?
As I went through the writing I found the oldest fiction pieces to be from 2004. That is five years ago! Some of them I had to throw away, even though I loved the writing, because the topic made me get all huffy and puffy and I don't want to blow this pretty house of cards down. Some of them I kept because, despite the topic, they were too sweet and terrible to throw away (a particular piece has me channeling Tom Robbins in all the wrong ways- I'm sure he'd cringe at the words). Some of them were so depressing that I kept them just to remind myself that I'm in a better place.
But then I found some things even older. The autobiography I wrote of myself in the 8th grade, for example. But even better, a list of qualities that I wished for in a potential boyfriend in the 7th grade. This isn't a list of qualities I wanted in seventh graders. This was what I wanted in a man, in the man, in the love of my life. It is long, it is so severely outdated, and it is hilarious.
Take a gander.
*My Man* [Yes, I did title it this and I did use stars to outline the title. All punctuation, shorthand, etc. is maintained from the original in the best way I knew how.]
- Over 5'7''
- Shorter than 6'2''
- Handsome
- Thin to slightly built
- Not overly hairy
- Good hygiene
- Pretty Smile
- Siblings
- Better voice than mine
- Funny
- Must love music
- Good @ sports
- No facial hair!!!
- Short hair
- Good style in clothes
- No weird obsessions
- NO SCRUBS!!!!!!
- Romantic
- Sincere/Honest
- Likes dogs (ROY!) [ed note: Roy was the name of the rottweiler I dreamed of owning.]
- Charming
- Polite
- Likes same music as me
- Likes basketball (Jordan!)
- Respectful
- Interesting
- Motivated
- Get along with JC [tween code for Christian]
- Non-smoker
- Good cologne
- Good dancer
- Good breath
- Strong morals
- Loves family
- Humble
- Good eyes
- Good conversationalist
- Understanding
- Protective, BUT
- Not jealous
- Likes shopping
- Likes roller coasters
- Good taste in food
- Good last name
- Forgiving
- Spoils me
- Generous towards others
- Intelligent
- Nice shoes
- Pretty hands
- Confident, BUT
- NOT CONCEITED
- Like children
- No ugly piercings
- No ugly tattoos (black: woo-hoo!)
- Nice friends
- Good at partying
- NOT "perfect"
- Literate
- Watches good movies
- Good laugh
- Responsible
- Likes warm weather
- Doesn't tan
Funny that I had, by my count, sixty-four points when I was 11 and three points when I was 18. I wonder how many I'd have now, but I think I realize that my high standards don't come from a list. Now, if only I can figure out where they do come from?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Oh hay, Colin!
Every time I see episode 2.13 of Scrubs, my heart gets happy. Is it because the pen explodes on the janitor? No. Is it because Turk asks a little boy to imagine men in his body trying to push the dookie out? No. But that does make me happy... Is it the Tod's killer line, "If I'm so gay, why do I work out so much?" (Killer.) Nope.
It's the ending. Colin Hay soothes the soul. I hope that when I die I get a chance to put on a ballgown and sing. I might not sing "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin," but you can be assured that it will be something almost as beautiful. (Maybe when I die, my voice will magically become beautiful?)
It's the ending. Colin Hay soothes the soul. I hope that when I die I get a chance to put on a ballgown and sing. I might not sing "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin," but you can be assured that it will be something almost as beautiful. (Maybe when I die, my voice will magically become beautiful?)
Sunday, February 22, 2009
A date with Darren
Aaron has become a sort of Shuck's taxi service as of late. This doesn't bother me because I am probably his best customer. When I say customer I mean to say that he picks me up for work and drops me off at night and doesn't ask for any payment and doesn't seem to mind it at all. I'm not really being a customer at all, then, more of a "moocher" but that sounds bad.
A few nights ago, we had the pleasure of Wendy's company on the ride home. Tonight it was Darren. Darren is a funny sort of man. I would like to note here that I am using the word funny in two of its connotations. He is, in fact, quite comical. Aside from that, he's also funny in the "quizzical" sense. He likes to say really off-the-wall things to me and then when I either a-blush, b-say something back, or c-salute him with a finger and a grin, he goes, "You know what, Moira, you a trip!" Darren is, in every way, the bigger trip in our relationship. He's ridiculous.
Of all the things that Darren likes to tease me about, there is one issue that is his personal favorite. You see, a few months ago, Darren got wind of proof that I am not (always) a prudish hermit who has no fun and sits at home knitting and watching Matthew Broderick movies every Saturday night. As it turns out, Darren finds the idea of me even talking to a member of the opposite sex to be amazing.
Anyhow, after "hearing all about" me, Darren latched onto whatever it is that he heard and dug his claws in. Hard. He asks me at least three times a night how my man is doing. I always divert this comment into something about Joey or Mark. They're safe and fun for me, I enjoy acting like I am in love with them both.
On the ride home tonight, he asked again.
"I heard about you and your man. I heard all about your date."
Puzzled, I turn around.
"What date was that?"
"You know, you went down on the Battery. You sat in your man's car on the battery eating a pizza that you had delivered to you."
"Did I?"
"Yeah."
At this point we start asking questions. What kind of pizza was it? Pepperoni. I tried to convince him that it was Hawaiian, but he insisted. What color blanket did we sit on? No blanket, because we didn't leave the car. We just turned the heat on. We drank soda "or sparkling water, whatever it is that you drinkin'". We tipped the delivery man two dollars and offered him a slice of our pizza. Darren was especially annoyed by the fact that we were both such terrible tippers. (I generally tip any delivery person at least five dollars, FYI, Darren.) And so on and so forth. He was so insistent. And so detailed. I asked if he was really that lonely that he sat around and daydreamed of a date for two people who aren't dating. He insisted it was all a reality.
I think that's the reason that I don't mind Darren's outbursts. They're hilarious. And they make me feel a little bit more normal.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a cold slice of heaven waiting in the fridge for me...
A few nights ago, we had the pleasure of Wendy's company on the ride home. Tonight it was Darren. Darren is a funny sort of man. I would like to note here that I am using the word funny in two of its connotations. He is, in fact, quite comical. Aside from that, he's also funny in the "quizzical" sense. He likes to say really off-the-wall things to me and then when I either a-blush, b-say something back, or c-salute him with a finger and a grin, he goes, "You know what, Moira, you a trip!" Darren is, in every way, the bigger trip in our relationship. He's ridiculous.
Of all the things that Darren likes to tease me about, there is one issue that is his personal favorite. You see, a few months ago, Darren got wind of proof that I am not (always) a prudish hermit who has no fun and sits at home knitting and watching Matthew Broderick movies every Saturday night. As it turns out, Darren finds the idea of me even talking to a member of the opposite sex to be amazing.
Anyhow, after "hearing all about" me, Darren latched onto whatever it is that he heard and dug his claws in. Hard. He asks me at least three times a night how my man is doing. I always divert this comment into something about Joey or Mark. They're safe and fun for me, I enjoy acting like I am in love with them both.
On the ride home tonight, he asked again.
"I heard about you and your man. I heard all about your date."
Puzzled, I turn around.
"What date was that?"
"You know, you went down on the Battery. You sat in your man's car on the battery eating a pizza that you had delivered to you."
"Did I?"
"Yeah."
At this point we start asking questions. What kind of pizza was it? Pepperoni. I tried to convince him that it was Hawaiian, but he insisted. What color blanket did we sit on? No blanket, because we didn't leave the car. We just turned the heat on. We drank soda "or sparkling water, whatever it is that you drinkin'". We tipped the delivery man two dollars and offered him a slice of our pizza. Darren was especially annoyed by the fact that we were both such terrible tippers. (I generally tip any delivery person at least five dollars, FYI, Darren.) And so on and so forth. He was so insistent. And so detailed. I asked if he was really that lonely that he sat around and daydreamed of a date for two people who aren't dating. He insisted it was all a reality.
I think that's the reason that I don't mind Darren's outbursts. They're hilarious. And they make me feel a little bit more normal.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a cold slice of heaven waiting in the fridge for me...
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Où est le bébé?
Connie rocks. Connie sent us a king cake. She baked it, packaged it (with appropriate instructions, "Please handle with care! Thanks!"), and shipped it right to our little home.
Emily also rocks. Emily attacked the king cake last night. I helped her. We are trying to find the baby! Just let us! Justin did not let us. He stopped us. There are still parts of the cake left, but it has suffered great losses. And we have not found the damn baby.
Maybe we need a real detective on the job?
Emily also rocks. Emily attacked the king cake last night. I helped her. We are trying to find the baby! Just let us! Justin did not let us. He stopped us. There are still parts of the cake left, but it has suffered great losses. And we have not found the damn baby.
Maybe we need a real detective on the job?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
A question of logic
If P -> Q.
If you blog -> your blog is about who you are.
If you are what you eat -> your blog is about what you eat.
Does this make sense? I stopped going to my logic class about halfway through its run and that was many semesters ago. But I think it all follows correctly. That said, today's blog will be about food.
Krystina posted a blog not too long ago about Ratatouille, a movie I currently have resting on my bedside table from when I watched it a week or so ago. It was a hard jump for me to make, watching a movie about a rat in a kitchen and it's supposed to be good? But I made it and I enjoyed it. The reason Krystina wanted me to watch the movie so much was because I am a foodie (Or a fatty, really. Funny how those two rhyme...). I love food. I have a love affair with food.
This week in French class, we're talking about the French love affair with food. Today's lesson focused a lot on le déjuner. Part of the whole "French people don't get fat" logic is that they have their scandalous trysts with bread, cheese, and wine in the afternoon rather than late at night. Le diner is served late and served light. Le déjuner, on the other hand, is practically a party. But I am not here to school people on the aspects of French vie et culture that they already know from their textbook. I am here to share how the French gave me some inspiration for a delicious lunch of my own.
So, I walked to Caviar and Bananas and made some careful selections to bring home with me. The end result, un festin.
First, I gobbled up a healthy serving of brussel sprouts. I would like to thank my mom here for being one of those people who actually liked the things and, as a result foisting her like upon her little girl. After that I snacked on a little bit of bread with a little bit of cheese. I needed something to hit my sweet spot so I took a little more of that same bread and put just the tiniest bit of Nutella on it (I admit- I am an addict). To top it all off, a cappuccino.
I am so full. And so happy.
So, back to my logic.
If the Food makes the Moira -> what does this food make this Moira?
(I think the answer might be a budding Francophile. More to come on this development as it, well, develops.)
If you blog -> your blog is about who you are.
If you are what you eat -> your blog is about what you eat.
Does this make sense? I stopped going to my logic class about halfway through its run and that was many semesters ago. But I think it all follows correctly. That said, today's blog will be about food.
Krystina posted a blog not too long ago about Ratatouille, a movie I currently have resting on my bedside table from when I watched it a week or so ago. It was a hard jump for me to make, watching a movie about a rat in a kitchen and it's supposed to be good? But I made it and I enjoyed it. The reason Krystina wanted me to watch the movie so much was because I am a foodie (Or a fatty, really. Funny how those two rhyme...). I love food. I have a love affair with food.
This week in French class, we're talking about the French love affair with food. Today's lesson focused a lot on le déjuner. Part of the whole "French people don't get fat" logic is that they have their scandalous trysts with bread, cheese, and wine in the afternoon rather than late at night. Le diner is served late and served light. Le déjuner, on the other hand, is practically a party. But I am not here to school people on the aspects of French vie et culture that they already know from their textbook. I am here to share how the French gave me some inspiration for a delicious lunch of my own.
So, I walked to Caviar and Bananas and made some careful selections to bring home with me. The end result, un festin.
First, I gobbled up a healthy serving of brussel sprouts. I would like to thank my mom here for being one of those people who actually liked the things and, as a result foisting her like upon her little girl. After that I snacked on a little bit of bread with a little bit of cheese. I needed something to hit my sweet spot so I took a little more of that same bread and put just the tiniest bit of Nutella on it (I admit- I am an addict). To top it all off, a cappuccino.
I am so full. And so happy.
So, back to my logic.
If the Food makes the Moira -> what does this food make this Moira?
(I think the answer might be a budding Francophile. More to come on this development as it, well, develops.)
Thursday, February 12, 2009
For the poopsmiths...
Today I shall resurrect a post I started about a week ago but got too lazy to post pictures. I dedicate it to Krystina. More than a dedication, though, I consider this post an In-Your-Face-Sucker! moment. Bask in it. I am.
I was bored as I sat on my couch this evening. Nobody was home. Scrubs was over. The dogs had just been walked. There was not a whole lot going on. Did I want coffee? No, it was just a little bit too late for that and I've already had my self-imposed espresso quota (one per day, otherwise the convenience of it will overpower my weak, weak willpower).
So what should I do? Make myself something sweet? But I wanted something warm. I had nutella... and milk... And, wait... Could this work? Well, might as well research.
My first research tool, of course, was to ask Krystina. As she texted me no, I was already searching the world wide web (I was anticipating this answer and wanted a second opinion before I got the first).
The world wide web gave me a resounding yes. Where my friend had said "no", the anonymous world said, "Oh mama, bring it on!" Maybe this is why people love to date online/ find friends online/ play World of Warcraft. Okay, that last one was overkill. There just may be no excuse for WoW. But I tried.
So I tried. I saw a number of variations with cinnamon and espresso and such. I just wanted to stick to the basics. (Though I did add some dark chocolate to the mix.)
And the result?
See how inviting that massive, massive mug of hot cocoa looks?
It lights up an entire room. Like a beacon of warmth. And deliciousness. And chocolate-hazelnut goodness.
Eat my poop, smiths.
I was bored as I sat on my couch this evening. Nobody was home. Scrubs was over. The dogs had just been walked. There was not a whole lot going on. Did I want coffee? No, it was just a little bit too late for that and I've already had my self-imposed espresso quota (one per day, otherwise the convenience of it will overpower my weak, weak willpower).
So what should I do? Make myself something sweet? But I wanted something warm. I had nutella... and milk... And, wait... Could this work? Well, might as well research.
My first research tool, of course, was to ask Krystina. As she texted me no, I was already searching the world wide web (I was anticipating this answer and wanted a second opinion before I got the first).
The world wide web gave me a resounding yes. Where my friend had said "no", the anonymous world said, "Oh mama, bring it on!" Maybe this is why people love to date online/ find friends online/ play World of Warcraft. Okay, that last one was overkill. There just may be no excuse for WoW. But I tried.
So I tried. I saw a number of variations with cinnamon and espresso and such. I just wanted to stick to the basics. (Though I did add some dark chocolate to the mix.)
And the result?
See how inviting that massive, massive mug of hot cocoa looks?
It lights up an entire room. Like a beacon of warmth. And deliciousness. And chocolate-hazelnut goodness.
Eat my poop, smiths.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Ch ch ch changes...
I wanted to paint my blog black.
No, really, I just got tired of always having somebody else's layout as my blog template. So, until I am in the mood to make one myself (which will happen some day, I promise, but perhaps not some day soon), I will just use the template that blogger gives me.
If you want something done right you have to do it yourself, no? I actually don't subscribe to that wisdom, but I do want this blog to be an expression of myself and not of whomever it is that makes layouts at cutestblogontheblock or myspaceoryours. Though they are both very talented, I think it is time to take matters into my own hands.
If what you see is what you get, you might as well see something that is my doing. Get a little more me and a little less everybody else. That is what this blogging business is all about, right?
No, really, I just got tired of always having somebody else's layout as my blog template. So, until I am in the mood to make one myself (which will happen some day, I promise, but perhaps not some day soon), I will just use the template that blogger gives me.
If you want something done right you have to do it yourself, no? I actually don't subscribe to that wisdom, but I do want this blog to be an expression of myself and not of whomever it is that makes layouts at cutestblogontheblock or myspaceoryours. Though they are both very talented, I think it is time to take matters into my own hands.
If what you see is what you get, you might as well see something that is my doing. Get a little more me and a little less everybody else. That is what this blogging business is all about, right?
Friday, February 6, 2009
For my Friend
I love you! And how do I express that? By making a playlist. Weird, I know. But I think it suits me. And I hope the playlist will suit you. I couldn't resist the John Legend. The rest are just songs I think you should love as much as I love you. Can't wait to live in Philly with you!!!! (I mean that, no matter what Joshua says.) And so I present...
oh-KK
oh-KK
- The Beach Boys- Wouldn't It Be Nice
- Counting Crows- Rain King
- Dido- Here With Me
- Hall and Oates- She's Gone
- Jefferson Airplane- Volunteers
- Tom Petty- Mary Jane's Last Dance
- Rooftop Singers- Walk Right In
- John Legend- Ordinary People
- Queen- You're My Best Friend
- Justin Timberlake- Rock Your Body
- The Who- My Generation
- Soft Cell- Tainted Love
- Lauryn Hill- Everything is Everything
- Rilo Kiley- My Slumbering Heart
- Death Cab for Cutie- We Looked Like Giants
- The Verve Pipe- Bittersweet Symphony
- Mariah Carey- Fantasy
- No Doubt- Simple Kind of Life
- The Police- Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
- Portishead- All Mine
- Belle and Sebastian- If She Wants Me
- The Postal Service- Such Great Heights
- Rachael Yamagata- The Reason Why
- The Rolling Stones- Brown Sugar
- The Darkness- I Believe In A Thing Called Love
- The Cranberries- Linger
- Scissor Sisters- Filthy Gorgeous
- Fatboy Slim- Praise You
- Colin Hay- Overkill
I hate to brag...
But there are some things I am just good at. I won't list them all here because that would be obnoxious and I am certain that there would be people around who could contest that I do not, in fact, do those things well at all. And that is fine with me.
It isn't quite right to toot your own horn tout le jour, buuuuut I figure just this once won't hurt so much, will it? We all like that feeling of accomplishment when we realize that we can do something with excellence.
And what can I do with excellence?
I can make a latte. A delicious latte.
Don't you just want some?
It isn't quite right to toot your own horn tout le jour, buuuuut I figure just this once won't hurt so much, will it? We all like that feeling of accomplishment when we realize that we can do something with excellence.
And what can I do with excellence?
I can make a latte. A delicious latte.
Don't you just want some?
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Cold and colder
When I woke up this morning, I checked the weather. It was cold. When I say cold, I mean to say that the temperature was 26 degrees and it "felt like" 17. This to me is actually more than cold. It is, quite technically, below freezing. In my world, though, it's below the conditions in which humans should be expected to live/function/survive.
In fact, I think this cold is so absurd that I actually checked my school email account to make sure classes weren't canceled. If I were a professor, I would have canceled classes today. All that work to get your PhD and you still have to trudge through the below freezing cold weather to teach? Naw dog. Not me.
But I don't have the power.
There is, however, something that annoys me more than the cold weather.
People who are prepared for the cold weather, what is your problem? Seriously. You live in Charleston. Charleston, where? Charleston, Vermont? Nooooo. Charleston, North Dakota? Nooooo. Charleston North Carolina? Closer, but nooooo. Charleston, where? Charleston, South Carolina. Sud. Sur. South. That means, in our Northern hemisphere, down toward the equator. It is supposed to be warm here.
In fact, it was colder here today than it was home in Maryland, where it was snowing. No snow here. Just people wearing parkas and long wool coats. And these people, they're the ones who really get my goat. Where in the hell did you get this from? What, somewhere in your brain you remembered that once every 12 eons it gets cold in Charleston and you bought this nice down coat just in case?
Why aren't you like the rest of us? The rest of us are unprepared. We dress in many layers. We finally trade our flip flops for a pair of boots. We wear scarves (usually just a fashion accessory, but in this climate functional). We drive our cars to class (or get rides from our roommates) instead of walking. We do the things that normal, unprepared people do: improvise.
And there you are. In your huge down coat. It isn't as if you're one of those people who just happens to have a ski jacket for when you take vacation. This is a coat designed for New York City winters. Sure, you may be from New York, but you're not there now! Why do you have this! And why, for the love of all things holy, are you taunting me with it!
So here's to you, you prepared bunch of ninnies. I zip up my hoodie, slip on my gloves, and peer at you with a mixture of jealousy, contempt, and wonder from beneath my ski hat. All in honor of you. Enjoy your "warmth" and don't worry about the rest of us, we're doing just fine. And no, we're not shivering, we're actually just seething with anger at your preparedness.
In fact, I think this cold is so absurd that I actually checked my school email account to make sure classes weren't canceled. If I were a professor, I would have canceled classes today. All that work to get your PhD and you still have to trudge through the below freezing cold weather to teach? Naw dog. Not me.
But I don't have the power.
There is, however, something that annoys me more than the cold weather.
People who are prepared for the cold weather, what is your problem? Seriously. You live in Charleston. Charleston, where? Charleston, Vermont? Nooooo. Charleston, North Dakota? Nooooo. Charleston North Carolina? Closer, but nooooo. Charleston, where? Charleston, South Carolina. Sud. Sur. South. That means, in our Northern hemisphere, down toward the equator. It is supposed to be warm here.
In fact, it was colder here today than it was home in Maryland, where it was snowing. No snow here. Just people wearing parkas and long wool coats. And these people, they're the ones who really get my goat. Where in the hell did you get this from? What, somewhere in your brain you remembered that once every 12 eons it gets cold in Charleston and you bought this nice down coat just in case?
Why aren't you like the rest of us? The rest of us are unprepared. We dress in many layers. We finally trade our flip flops for a pair of boots. We wear scarves (usually just a fashion accessory, but in this climate functional). We drive our cars to class (or get rides from our roommates) instead of walking. We do the things that normal, unprepared people do: improvise.
And there you are. In your huge down coat. It isn't as if you're one of those people who just happens to have a ski jacket for when you take vacation. This is a coat designed for New York City winters. Sure, you may be from New York, but you're not there now! Why do you have this! And why, for the love of all things holy, are you taunting me with it!
So here's to you, you prepared bunch of ninnies. I zip up my hoodie, slip on my gloves, and peer at you with a mixture of jealousy, contempt, and wonder from beneath my ski hat. All in honor of you. Enjoy your "warmth" and don't worry about the rest of us, we're doing just fine. And no, we're not shivering, we're actually just seething with anger at your preparedness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
