tonight my Ma asked if i'm coming home for Thanksgiving. my response was, "Wow, that's almost here?" time flies. and the real answer to the question was, "Probably not." i want to sleep that weekend.
work stinks, but i tell myself that everybody feels that way. remember that old joke, "Oh, you hate your job? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar." yeah, i tell myself that. and i chuckle. i chuckle so much :-/
it's cold in the morning. my bed is heaven. have i told you lately that i love my bed?
speaking of which, my Pottery Barn faux fur throw feels exactly like my catticus. i never know which one i brush against in the middle of the night. neither of them purrs.
i can't think of anything that i want for Christmas/Chanukah. my Ma keeps asking. i told her that vodka is a safe bet.
i'm ready for that trip to Ireland. time to start thinking ahead and convincing my BFF it's time.
i bought Ricky Martin's memoir, entitled "Me" most likely because the title "Yo" was already taken by Julia Alvarez (love that libro). am i ashamed to be reading something that sounds so vapid? NO! though i did turn it face down at the check-out counter. because it would've made me look gay or whatever.
i have a bunch of new music on my iPod, including new Ke$ha and Rihanna and Nelly. but every morning on my way to work all i want to listen to is This Ain't A Love Song (below, see?) and La Belle et Le Bad Boy. over and over again, on repeat. i should just make a playlist of those two songs and call it, "Grumpy Mornings." ask my roommates. i'm not a morning person after all.
i have to go watch Vampire Diaries now. it's my guil--- no. it's just a pleasure. all pleasure.