It's not me, it's astronomy (again)

So, Mercury is in retrograde. Don't know what that means? Well, look it up yourself - I'm not your damn mom.

Fine. It's all about communication and technology breaking down.

So my cell phone is broken. It might or might not be related to that time when I spilled a water bottle in my bag. Also, this is why I would never, EVER, not buy a crappy, very basic phone. I can't have nice things.

Speaking of nice things I can't have - I think I just broke my iPod. It also might or might not be related to the above incident. Also, I just bought it one year and one month ago. Also, this is why I was afraid of buying an iPod. Because. I can't have nice things.

How bad is my iPod sitch? See for yourself. The following is the image I get whenenver I turn it on:



And it wouldn't be so bad if it didn't have a fucking face.

That doesn't make any sense...

Jessica, Michael (= engaged! yay!) and I (= not engaged. whatevs.) went to Baskin-Robins on Sunday night before Asssscat. Because we're classy. Jealous? Deal with it.*

*That is from a TV show I don't watch but I think I should.

While we waited for someone to acknowledge the ice cream counter, I took a look at the Recommended Ice-Cream-Cake Book. Here's my favorite:



What the huh?

There is no way to bend the English language so that makes sense. There is a space on top so you can fill in a name. For example:

Billy Crudup Love's Me

or

Some Other Guy Love's Me

but those things still do not make sense. Now, I'm not the sharpest crayon on the tree but I had two future English teachers verify the impossibility of this cake. I feel pretty secure in my correctness.

I was going to steal the postcard of the cake but I did not do that. I couldn't handle the idea that the only thing I'd ever stolen would be a picture of a romantic cake. There are too many issues caught up in that, man (see: food=love?; dying alone).

PSA (Personal Service Announcement)

Are you a tall person? Are you within two standard deviations of the national height average? Are you not very, really, very short? If you answered yes to at least one of these questions then this PSA is for you.
Hey you! Do you know how sometimes you're standing in the subway train? And you have that luxury of holding on to either the vertical bar or the horizontal bar above your head? That must be a nice feeling: choice. Well, not everyone has that freedom. Some of us are not tall enough to reach that horizontal bar. Some of us need the vertical bar. Without it, we must stretch uncomfortably in constant concern that our shirt is riding up in an unattractive way. Or we go bar-less and have to play the "I will pretend I am a tree. I can feel my roots stretching into the ground. I will not fall over. Don't fall over. Don't. fall. down" game. Yes, it's a real game. So please, if you find yourself on a crowded subway car, move away from the vertical bars. For every time that you don't, there's a short person who feels like this:

It's practically a livejournal

On Wednesday, I bought the magazine which is pictured to the left of this text. You may ask why. You may think that it was because I really like brunch. You may be incorrect.

You are! Brunch is hideous. These are some of the things that I think of when I think of brunch: What do you mean you're going to make me wait to eat? What do you mean you're only going to feed me twice today? What do you mean this is supposed to be special? I hate brunch almost as much as I love diners. I was born in New Jersey so that is a lot.

No. I bought it because there is a little girl with a pink bow and big blue eyes sitting behind a stack of pancakes - and she is so excited about them. I bought it because the parts of me which are designed for mother-purposes have not yet shrivelled up from lack of use. Because until they do, something deep down in my ovulary area will respond to children and pancakes. (As long as it's at a reasonably early hour in the morning and leaves an acceptable amount of time to digest before a second meal.)

Love of food - check
Desperate need for a child - check
Creepy factor - check

This is my most revealing blog entry so far. I feel like you (oh elusive, made-up, not really there you) really know me now.

Columbus Day Weekend

There once was a farm in Havre de Grace
Where writers could go and ideas they'd toss
Around in their heads
And sleep in warm beds
And remember that they are, in fact, human beings with a capacity for feeling, an appreciation for nature, and the ability to respond to a life that is immediate and real.

A friend of a friend (a Sarah of a Hannah) very kindly invited a few people to her family's farm in Maryland this weekend for a writers' retreat. There are no words to describe the loveliness of the weekend. I wrote the above limerick* in their guest book because if you can't think of something to write, it's always better when your dumb idea rhymes.

*almost

My favorite thing

Robbie locked my scissors together with a combination lock. Let me tell you - this killed me when it happened today. I may be having trouble readjusting to the work place...