My plant committed suicide.
I came home from a particularly irritating day of work to discover that the plant’s leaves/stems/stalks tried to make a run for it. Seriously, they were draped over the pot and over the edge of the counter. So close! If they had only made it all the way down to the floor, I’m sure it would have been out of here.
All I could do is look at it, and say “yeah, I hear you”.
Who are those people in Starbucks all day long? No, I don’t mean the people working the counters (obviously, Taylor, the Latte Boy makes sense), I mean the people hanging out during the week. What do they do for a living, and how can I get that job?
My current dream is to kick back in one of those chairs, or toil relentlessly by one of the window-side tables. I’m not sure what I’m doing in this dream, other than waiting for George Clooney or Rob Marciano to meet me. Perhaps I’m suddenly the world’s next Tolstoy, or the political pundit version of TMZ. Perhaps I’m having a conversation with Reese Witherspoon—who I believe I actually saw today at Starbucks. So many options, and none of them involve returning to my office.
I finally miss rain. It took years and years, but I finally understand the desire to see rain in Los Angeles. Friends of mine would talk about getting all excited at the possibility of rain, and I thought they were nuts. I mean, I’m in Los Angeles, in part, for the lack of weather. But now I get it. The other day it was sort of cloudy, and the weather smelled like rain. Lies. No such thing.
How are we supposed to get the weather hotties out here without some actual weather? Why does Texas get all the fun? I’m sure they feel like they are soggy straight through to their skivvies at this point. I’m betting they would actually like to avoid the random storm that turns to hurricane in under 24 hours.
It comes down to this– Rob will never be out here in his adorable red slicker and baseball cap without some actual precipitation. And no—I don’t mean snow. I don’t miss snow. Snow is still an abomination.
I’m watching a Burn Notice marathon right now as I compose fantasy versions of my resignation notice (cattle prod is never hyphenated, right?). I love this show. One of the best summer shows ever, and I’d very much like to continue through the year. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Jeffrey Donovan gets better looking every episode, or that I have a thing for spies, or that I have an intellectual curiosity about whether or not cake icing can effectively substitute for C-4. Who doesn’t?