I want to start this blog entry with something incredibly mundane. I finished reading the second volume of Scott Pilgrim Cary loaned me on the train this morning. About the same time I realized I hadn’t brushed my hair this morning. I would like to say these two things are mutually exclusive, despite being hallmarks of my semi-slacker lifestyle. I would also like to say that I don't very often forget to brush my hair. But that would be a slight untruth.
The last four weeks have been crazy. A good, rollicking, warm crunchy crushes, Ra Ra Rioty goodness sort of crazy. Mixed with my obsession of the last two days: KiD CuDi. I think I might be too old for crushes, as abstract as mine seem to be. But I have a serious crush on the way someone's (who will remain nameless in perpetuity) eyes pleat in the corner when they smile. This seems like flimsy grounds for a crush, I think, particularly as I barely know the individual in question. But I think I am going to write a story about it. I've been mulling over this idea about a train in France - two people travelling in the 1950s (or early 1960s), too poor for individual train compartments so they share some padded benches and ... other things (I can't help the fact that all my stories end up the same way, eventually). I've just about got the quality of the light in my minds eye, so I will probably work on it this week.
Now that I have that out of the way, here is my crazy (but absolutely, completely true) story of last week (it happened on Thursday PM) from the APB I threw out to Cary/Karen and Queenmob: