Cats.

Based on the impressive amount of critter footprints that are left on my filthy car each morning, it's obvious that my car has become the feral cat equivalent to whatever really awesome club everyone who's anyone in Los Angeles goes to. I'm pretty sure that if I were to check up on my parking spot at 3AM I'd see about fifty cats and maybe a raccoon or two just chilling on my Civic.

I wish I had either the time to actually do this or the ability to set up a sweet surveillance system so that I could get the hilarious picture that I'm assuming I'd find without actually having to go outside at 3 AM.

Youtube.

Here's something that baffles me: when people dedicate what must surely be hours to creating the perfect unnecessary sentimental montage to throw up on youtube. Why? Why do this? Maybe I'm just dispassionate or something, but I cannot for the life of me understand why videos like this exist: 

Exhibit A: The Public Figure Montage. This is a montage of my now famous former neighbor Snooks that is four minutes long and comprised of maybe six pictures, max, and assembled by some concerned citizen with a lot of time and what appears to be some sad little Dell editing program that they had on their hands. Apparently people occasionally feel it is their civic duty to honor current events of which they have no part with a primitive, sappy montage. I also found about 300 JonBenet Ramsey montages that are way too disturbing/creepy to include here, but don't worry..."Dreaming of You" and "Wind Beneath My Wings" are the common musical accompaniments of choice. 

Exhibit B: The Reader's Digest Movie Montage where, basically, someone shaves a three hour movie down into the most crucial 3-5 minutes. Hello, Copyright Infringement. The creator of this masterpiece speaks for himself with the following description of this video:

The film Braveheart had a huge impact on me when I first saw it, and still does. I felt compelled to make a video for it showing my appreciation for such a powerful film. I used the score composed by James Horner and basically put alot of what made it memorable for me into this video. Wow, really? Well done. 

Exhibit C: The Music Video Montage. These are just...indescribably stupid. The only thing worse than a montage of scenes from a movie set to that movie's theme is scenes from a movie set to a completely separate, sort-of-but-not-really-relevant song. Behold: Titanic featuring Enrique Iglesias' "Hero", Pearl Harbor featuring Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt", and Jurassic Park, featuring Skillet's hit, "The Last Night". The only thing better than all of the above is when the song is Nickelback and it's being played under Pride and Prejudice. AMAZING.

These people should be punished.

Splash.

I really miss rain more than I thought I would. The good part about having to leave for work so early in the morning is that it's the time of day when the mysterious smog/mist clouds have yet to be burned off by the inevitable sunshine, so it leaves room for the possibility of rain for about an hour. 

The other night I woke up to the sound of water rushing and got excited...rain? Could it be? Too curious to not see for myself, I looked out the window to find my charming, lanky, 7 foot landlord splashing around in the hot tub.

I was totally singing a different tune last summer, especially  when, after a week of hauling around a full sized Degas umbrella -- Lizzy and I invested in Impressionist umbrellas at Filene's Basement-- because it seemed like it might rain but never did, I woke up on a gray morning and decided that I wasn't going to let nature force me into calling my own bluff by toting an unnecessary umbrella on what would be, as the pattern had led me to believe, a perfectly glorious, sunny Boston day. 

So I left it at home and proceeded to march through the Public Garden towards Barbour. I barely reached the banks of the Swan Pond when, obviously, it started to drizzle. No big deal, I thought to myself. I can dry off once I get to work. Immediately after I finished this thought in my inner monologue, it started to pour. Torrentially. I was halfway to work by now, and illogically figured that being on time for work but soaked was better than being thirty minutes late. I can run for it, I reasoned. No sweat. 

Yeah, sure. Me. Run. Through the rain in a white dress and flip flops. . So I started to run, subtly, you know, ballerina running. The running caused me to promptly break a flip flop, which sealed the deal. I was going to be late for work. Hindsight is 20/20, but looking back, it was probably best that the damn shoe broke, otherwise i would have shown up at Barbour, waterlogged and essentially naked. Classy.

Anyway, I trudged back through the Garden, up Charles Street and Revere Street and down Garden Street, back home, all barefoot, of course, changed, grabbed the damn umbrella and headed back on my way. Except now, of course, the rain was over and my umbrella was useless. 

This is just one of many stories I've got as proof that I am, in fact, That Girl.