Listening to:

Meltdown – Ash
05 – Starcrossed

I don’t want people to think that I’m going all political on here, but I must publicise. I was watching the DNC last night and I was really impressed by Barack Obama’s speech, which you should watch if you haven’t already. Even ignoring all the political messages, you’ve got to admit that he’s a great speaker.

In other news, my eyes are about to explode from the excessive computer use at work. Strangely enough, I go home and continue to stare at the screen. My friend does not hesitate to point out that I simply go from one box to another.

I want something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life.

During this past weekend, I managed to witness all these random fashion trends that I could only previously read about. Apparently, thongs are still in, or should I say that thongs were quite out…. It was absolutely disgusting. To top it all off, the very next day, I was lucky enough to see my sleepwear being worn out at Santana Row as a dress.

I think I must be slowing turning into a prude or something because this life is just getting a bit too risqué for my tastes. So to counter this effect, I’m listening to this Eyes On You song. It’s not so bad if you don’t listen to the lyrics.

Let this be a warning to those poor boys trying to find a better paying work-study job:
Sperm donor must pay child support

So Mike does indeed have reason to worry. Not quite worth the 50 bucks a pop, eh?

You know I have too much free time when I begin carefully studying men’s fashion trends… This from an article detailing a man’s new-found freedom of leaving his dress shirt untucked.

Freudians might see sexual connotations in the decision to leave shirttails hanging, but almost anyone would agree that an untucked shirt is, at some level, the uncomplicated expression of every man’s inner slob.

Tucking is really so much work though. Kind of like making the bed. Maybe I should express my inner slob. After all, it is the “in” thing to do.

Stuck in the head:

Some Girls – Rachel Stevens

According to this New York Times article, 48% of British males are weekly binge drinkers. This is apparently the highest percentage they could find in all of Europe. Funny that, because I think about 90% of my friends are regular binge drinkers. In fact, I don’t hear from many of them until after some random drunken episode. Just this week, no fewer than three of my friends have called me with the express purpose of detailing their drunken escapades. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not the one who has the problem.

I went out shopping as I usually do on the weekends, but this time, I had something in mind. My precious White Tea serum supply needed to be replenished, so here I was, to the mall with a mission. I walk out an hour and a half later with a gigantic canvas bag and only a mild bit of fulfilment.

But when I arrived back home, I still felt so empty inside. It was odd, really. So I asked my friend, why is it that shopping is never as satisfying as it should be?

“Simple,” he replied. “That’s because you’re spending your own money. With someone else’s money the satisfaction would be on a completely different level.” He continued, “You just need someone with a solid six figure income and their credit card.”

Great, so not only am I a sucker for beautifully packaged cosmetics, but now my friends are encouraging morally questionable behavior as a way for me to support the habit.

I have finally managed to acquire a digital camera to call my own, this beautiful Canon Digital Elph that has two sets of manuals for every single aspect of operation. But anyway, to my loyal readers, here’s your reward:

Want to see more pictures? I’m starting up the summer collection.

I have no idea what that means, but it’s the name of the song that I’m listening to right now. Apparently the band is called Dogs Die in Hot Cars. I’d be horribly afraid if they became too famous because can you imagine going to a Dogs Die in Hot Cars mega concert? That just sounds wrong somehow.

Yesterday, after a long day of training and sitting at our table, trying not to fall asleep, people decided to add to my growing collection of business cards. Now usually, I don’t like it when people pass out their cards too liberally. It always felt like the person was trying too hard to make an impression. It’s as if he were ever so discretely begging you, “Please please, don’t forget me. Here, have my card.” The action just leaves a slight taste of desperation.

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