Coming ATCHA!

Hm. I'm upset that Andy Milonakis is thirty. This information is going to haunt me for hours. I used to think he was this oddly impressive and clever adolescent. Now I'm creeped out. It's just too much.

The things I love most about working at LNT are, in no particular order: Damaged food/Floam, co-workers I couldn't make up, co-workers I legitimately love, sniffing candles, subconsciously sassing "guests", feather dusters, and the fact that I get to semi-quit again in three months. Today I thought about how cool it would be to film a ball of Floam slowly sinking into a pancake and then speed it up to make it look like it was morphing. I also ripped my work khakis right down the inseam, from crotch to knee, two hours before I got to leave. Thank God for aprons. 

Lost is irritating. But at least now we know why the plane crashed...maybe. Whatever, Grey's is hot.

I can't decide how I feel about Extreme Extended Family Weekend in Canada this weekend. 

I would like to go back to Boston someday very very soon. I'm missing Sicilia's, and I guess I'm missing my little room-bihds, too. 

Duty calls again tomorrow, so bed is probably a good idea. Gotta rest up for all the dusting and stapling and sniffing.

Cannes-tastic.

I just wanted to let you all know that if you don't see me for the next few days, it is because I have jetted off to Cannes for the film festival.

So if you think you'll find me "doing my little turn on the catwalk" in Fabulous Designs by Natalie or working at Linens N Things this weekend, you are sadly, sadly mistaken because those are all just lies I told all of you so that you wouldn't be jealous of the fact that Cannes is just so so so beautiful and when you throw world premiers of The DaVinci Code, Marie Antoinette, and Paris, Je T'Aime into the mix, well, you can see why I wanted to protect your feelings.

Psyche.

Friends don't let friends eat grocery store ice cream.

Last year learned that sometimes it's possible for people to just suck, and that's all you can and need to say, because that's all there is to them. They suck.

This year I've learned that those beautiful flowery paintings that you may or may not have seen of Boston Common are in fact done from life. I've never seen so many huge flowered trees look so fantastic before in all my days. I've always loved the contrast of flowers in the city, like those huge bouquets of tulips that people sell in the subway. Any flower looks more beautiful in the subway, and flowered trees and mini gardens look that much more beautiful when they're scattered around the city. I actually think that even the bums and the heroin dealers that are usually in the Common acknowlege how pretty everything is, and just disappear for awhile to let people enjoy the grass and the baby leaves and those damn swan boats that are just too appropriately picturesque for words.

I love mes amis and I love May and I love Berry Berry Berry Good in a waffle cone and I love Wicked and I love Grey's Anatomy and I love tomato/basil/proscuitto/mozzarella sandwiches on sesame bread and I love little sprouts of ivy and I love John Williams and I love beating the Red Sox Rush on the D Line and I love Emerson, even though they refund me $30 for a $115 psychology book that I barely touched and I think I love Hint of Lime Tostitos, but I'm not quite sure yet.

Everything that sucks, well that's too bad for you because you have to deal with the fact that even Hint of Lime Tositios are more likeable. 

And that's saying something, because tortilla chips covered in limey powder are pretty strange.