FAKE!

Something just popped into my head that I haven't thought of in years: a fake book. As in The Broadway Fake Book. A song book. I did a lot of musical theatre as a kid, and so I often found myself looking through fake books for audition songs, competition pieces, etc. Something about the title fake book really appealed to me. The combination of the way the words sounded together and the essence of the word fake, I think. Fake has a negative connotation generally, but there's also a bit of cool sneakiness in there that got me. Plus, what could possibly be too bad about a big, fat binder full of beautiful songs, I ask you? 

Thoughts on a Friday night

I am going to chop off all my hair. The result of which will hopefully be something akin to Poppy Lifton's do on Gossip Girl. Or possibly the look currently being rocked by Paris Hilton. Ew, I know--I loathe. But the hair.  

Trader Joe's lowfat yogurt is the best yogurt in the world, PERIOD. I endorse Boysenberry. Even better than my old standby Yoplait. And I usually don't even like fruit on the bottom--thanks for nothing, Danon!  

Back in my single days, I would just go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted. Now that I'm used to having a dude with me at all times, though, the thought of going someplace alone at night--say, a shopping complex, restaurant, mall, etc.--and navigating a dark, creepy parking garage makes me feel all icky and unsafe. This is why I would rather stay in and write an effing blog than go out on a Friday night (the boyf has a friend's bachelor dinner thingy happening). Is this the end of independence, or am I just succumbing to the warm, comfortable blanket that is my house and CW shows on the DVR? 

One thing is for sure: I put makeup on this evening for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Le effing sigh. 

Eavesdropping

Overheard at my house.

Me: That's why you should never help an injured person load stuff into a car--it could be a ruse to get you to lower your guard, and then they can abduct you. That's what Ted Bundy used to do. 

My boyfriend: You were raised incorrectly.

Me: Ahuh.