Okay. Look, weather. Stop.
It's been pouring for about two weeks now. While that does make for some fun late-night jogging, what with all the stomping in the deep, deep puddles that are too wide to hurdle over, it's disgusting. Ugliest. May. Ever. It's getting to the point where my friends text me about how pleased they are that they have no need to leave their apartments because they don't want to drown.

Also, West Wing series finale...bah. Bah, I say! You'd think they would have had Toby appear in the last episode of the series. Or, if they went through all the trouble of getting Rob Lowe back, have him do something interesting. Or have Josh and Donna say ONE word to each other during the freaking episode. But no, my friends, you'd be wrong. And as I said to the Vice Queen- I want series finales to explain everything explicitly to me. If I wanted to imagine things I'd read a book or look at some modern art.
Bastards.

Lastly, the falafel wraps from Whole Foods? Not so good. Wilted lettuce and bland hummus.
That could have been a haiku, but I'm done with the book learnin'.

Right. First off, I would like to thank my body for giving me strep as a graduation present. So, thanks, body. You were all out of miraculously growing two inches at the age of twenty two?
Secondly, I love my Mac and its lack of viruses, I really do. But what I don't love is that sometimes when I press enter it types out "0p;/=]" and no one knows why. Sometimes it just goes away and sometimes I have to click randomly around the screen and it goes away. I do not know.
Like just now. It just went away. I didn't do anything. And this is the one thing I own that I didn't name, so it shouldn't be developing a personality.
Also, addressing the horror of our Sunday night dinners coming true...Man, that would be awful. Wine would reappear and disappear at will, our father would be the High Commissioner of Mesopotamia, complete with his own Gilbert and Sullivan song, and I...I...would be married to a penguin. So I could be queen of Antarctica. This is our father's master plan for me. One of my four marriages? Gonna be a penguin. Right after the middle European royalty. And the gay guy. In high school, he wanted me to be an astrophysicist. Now he wants me to rule a barren, empty continent. I don't think I had to go to college for that; he could have just given me a scarf.
Lastly, Boston: Stop having such crappy weather. It's my last month here and I can't fully enjoy being an elitist, liberal Beacon Hill resident if it's 48 degrees and pouring. I don't think I've angered Ra lately, but I must have as he is punishing me just when I've met a guy with a roof deck. And no, that is not a euphemism. Now off to my dinner. Of mashed potatoes and popsicles. Fantastic.

ETA: Uh...my whole attraction to guys that reminded of Dark Heart was reinforced painfully and disturbingly when, while watching TV tonight, a rather elfin, pointy-jawed character I had always liked became incredibly attractive after it was discovered that he blew up a bus full of people, exploded a plane and orchestrated a very complicated cover-up. I have a problem.

At this point I’d just like to make it clear that our father invented the Wooly Mollusk one night at dinner, almost a year before they discovered that freakish furry albino lobster thing. Which frightens me.
Because I really hope life doesn’t start imitating our Sunday night dinner conversations. If it does, animals will start to wear the skin of other animals, Communists will take over Peru, everything in the universe will add up to eleven and we’ll have to put a portcullis on our house. On the upside, I’ll be directly related to God and I shall be given a small island in exchange for my many years of dedicated service.
I promised about six months ago to write more about the Wooly Mollusk and I never did because I suck. My only defense is that my co-author sucks more. I’ll get around to it soon. Seriously. Like you even care. Is there anyone out there? Helllooo? Where are we, Wyoming?




Update- sent missive to Father outlining intent to finally publish story of Wooly Mollusk. Received the following response: Very good. Follow up w/ ref to caves, fear, and golf.



I almost just typed something about how it's a wonder I turned out as normal as I did, but then I remembered that I have to be sincere and honest this week, because of a bet that I WON but somehow I'm doing the forfeit anyway. What kind of person are you when the punishments people devise for you are along the lines of "you're not allowed to be a megalomaniac or use any rhetorical exaggerations of any kind for a whole week"?? I HATE when people know me.