Ok, listen. I may not know if will ever write in this blog again, but I do know this: With Summer right on her way and the pavement temperature swelling up with the gas prices, I am going to be wearing open-toe shoes. This is awesome, except for that fact that sometimes my toes and feet turn, for no reason that I know of, bright red. This has been an terrible source of embarassment for me for as long as I remember. I spend the time I should be flaunting those tiny booty shorts bashfully trying to hide my florescent toes under the straps of my flip-flops, which by the way, does not work at all. So anyway, if you ever read this blog or ever see my red feet, PLEASE don't say anything to me. I am just dying at the thought that you noticed-- I don't need you to confirm it. Like the women at my work have now done on at least 4 separate occasions.
I just had to get that off my chest.
Last night I dreamt that Obama asked me to join him on his campaign tour, you know, as some sort of intern. I was so honored. I traveled the country with him in an entourage that consisted of His Popstarness, myself, and one other girl intern that I roomed with in the motels where we stayed. Barack was very Richard Greer in "Pretty Woman"-- quiet, removed, and professional. Smiling without trying to draw any attention to himself. And no, I was no 6 foot hooker. Nothing happened in the dream, all I remember now is rustling palmetto branches in the dark, framing the door to a ground floor motel room. And this is the sort of stuff that keeps me tired all day long.