But today, I am not going to fight the urge to purge these
inspid trifling little ruminations. Instead, I am going to throw caution to the wind and clickety-clack away as if my life depended on entertaining the whole of the internet with my lack of self-awareness. When in reality it's three people. And they are not entertained.
Tomorrow Wenoses turns nine. Nine. Nine. In large dog years that is almost deceased. Oh when will death come?
I am only kidding course. With whom else could I have conversations like this about my anniversary? Grammar? No had.
|table reserved at the huntly hotel for 730 on wednesday|
|and you will make it magical|
|practice some romantic sayings|
|maybe memorize some poetry passages|
|(just kidding, I hate love poetry)|
|(it's the least inventive)|
|should i compare thee to a summers day?|
|no because a summer's day isn't a bitch|
|somthing like that?|
Sigh. I will love him forever.
How many pairs of glasses do you think is too many? I have only ever had one with the correct prescription at a time and I just ordered a second pair from Warby Parker. I know. Who do I think I am, Louis XVI? Next stop on my quest for decadence? Frames for the artwork on my walls.
For the past five years, every night Moses has asked me if I want to watch the Wire and every night I have replied: "Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I am not in the mood."
Let he who has not willfully resisted award-winning television that he will later probably go on to someday love cast the first stone.
What makes me even more a pariah? I am having trouble getting into Buffy and Breaking Bad.
I know what you are thinking: they are basically the same show.
I have on fiya (fire) with planning dinners in advance and buying only the ingredients I need at the grocery store. I would like to thank god, my agent, and pinterest for this great accomplishment.
I talk mean talk but I don't actually harbor anyone ill feelings. Except pedestrians who walk on the bike paths along the beach. This is precisely how I feel about them:
Moses got a ghost pepper plant at the farmers market over the weekend. I am sure it won't join the ranks of other foliage before it: death by southern california balcony with less than six hours of direct sunlight.
I wrote a piece about the importance of art education that went out to 7,000 people on the Otis mailing list. It made me feel incredibly purposeful.
Especially considering that my blog, in total, has enjoyed 8,000 pageviews in two years.
But who's counting? me
Sometimes, when I am having a bad day or I am in an ugly mood, I picture famous authors in line at Subway and it inexplicably makes me feel better.
Maybe someday I will have the courage to write a poem or short story about Beckett attempting to order a tuna fish sandwich.
Because I have given way to much thought to it.
It took me until this year to realize that the Arthur Miller behind Death of a Salesman was the same Arthur Miller who wrote The Crucible.
Also, fun fact: did you know he was briefly married to Marilyn Monroe?
I was on an airforce base today for an education fair and it was shockingly devoid of beach volleyball tournaments. In other news, Top Gun lied to me.
When out to drinks with friends recently, I was asked the compelling question: if you had to date a Teenage Mutant Nina Turtle, who would it be? To which I responded: Fun-loving Michaelanglo has always been my favorite but if I were being practical, I would choose Donatello. He's smart, articulate, and he "does machines" which I am sure would come in handy at some point.
On that note, I think I should be done now. Toodles.