ONE MORE SONG

I was at Starbucks this morning--hey, it’s right by my office and I have a gift card--and the barista asked me whether I wanted Pike’s Place blend or Kimodo Dragon blend. (I think it was Kimodo? I so want it to be).

“DRAGON! OF COURSE DRAGON!” I yelled. “DRAGON!”

I was by myself. These baristas have no idea how I feel about dragons, though one could assume that they appreciate the general majesty of them. My point: I do this sort of thing all the time. For example, AmberN and I have, somehow, become preoccupied with the concept of the “date vest.” The concept of the date vest deserves its own post, to be sure, but I find myself asking people if they’ve been wearing their date vests as if they have the context for it.

My point: Isn’t this all the textbook definition of a bag lady? They make sense in their minds, but not to the general public, and then they get really upset and hit you with their pocket book/throw a cat at you if you don’t understand them. Hello, future.

My pity point: I’m at the point in the semester where I prop myself up on coffee/energy drinks.

My main point: Dragon starbucks coffee reminded me of dragons, which reminded me of this here blog.

Regarding the latter….Over the past month, I’ve said, “I’ve got a blog post brewing inside me” approximately 412 times. This has resulted in approximately zero blog posts, which leads me to believe that the phrase “brewing inside me” is probably linked to my annoyingly rampant biological clock (because, you know, babies brew inside you?) that I have dubbed “Big Ben(nett).”

It was my dragon birthday last Thursday, and the festivities spilled into the weekend. Because I’m secretly on a quest for a baby in my bjorn and a minivan, I have sort of stopped going out as I once did. I'm also writing a thesis, but perhaps more importantly, I am going through a phase where I really want restaurant hot chocolate--the kind from the packet, with some reddi whip--instead of PBR. I've never not wanted PBR before.

However. One of my New Year’s Resolutions was to make my life more like the Jersey Shore. Mission Accomplished. I don’t really remember accomplishing this mission, but witnesses claim I stormed a dancing platform, claimed it for the MFA program, and may or may not have knocked an orange girl with a corset, hair bump, and a penchant for air humping off of said platform. There was also a pole involved, but I think what happens in places-that-I-vowed-I-would-never-go-for-fear-of-date-rape-but-went-to-anyway should stay in those very places. There is nothing like stumbling home while receiving text messages that contain way too many acronyms (Fyi, lol) from someone you have saved in your phone as "dude from bar," and knowing that you have to wake up at 4:30am to put stickers on things at Target.
Hot chocolate is better than fist pumps and hair bumps: my new maxim.