Fingers crossed for a friend at an interview

My friend Katherine is at an interview right now, just down the street. As soon as she gets out we're going to get lunch. (On an unrelated, food-centric note, Ian gave me a brownie earlier. I haven't touched it yet, mostly because I can smell the sugar through the cellophane and it's giving me a headache.)

Went and watched Fat Couples (Biggest Loser!!) with J1 last night. My ability to predict with confidence the winner of eliminations is quickly failing me. I think I've guessed wrong the last two weeks: last week I thought they'd send Ron the Jolly Brown Godfather packing, and this week I thought Laura (who wielded Ultimate Supreme Godlike Power) would kick Helen to the curb. Instead, she sent Tongan Seth Rogen home and we all cried a little bit and then got happy because his daughter wears cute little glasses.

I am looking forward to a nice, relaxing weekend. Steph & I are going to watch Supernatural tonight. We are both totally addicted to that show, thankyouverymuch, because of this guy:



We have totes only seen him in two episodes so far (not counting the annoying recaps that play before every ep) but we're finally caught up on DVD to John Winchester's Tortured Yet Hot Return! It's going to be a great evening.

If you hate something, do something about it. If you hate something, change it.

So it's 10:00. I'm watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall and drinking a mimosa I made with a bottle of DKNY champagne stolen from the rtbp opening night party. I am on my little red couch, in this apartment that I probably should have vetted a little before committing to it, thinking that I should clean my room.

I have spent more nights like this in this apartment since I moved in than doing anything else. Tonight it's a movie. For the past month I've been alternating between NCIS and The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Last week I discovered the joy that is Supernatural. I haven't written a word of anything that wasn't twitter or this fucking blog post in weeks.

I have absolutely no excuses. The gala is over, and even with The Great Foolishness at work I still have plenty of extra time. I hate that I've been talking about being a writer for fucking ever, I've been talking about losing weight for fucking longer than that, and have done no work towards either. If the Malcolm Gladwell theory of genius is that you need 10,000 hours to be good at something I am a failure at just about everything.

I don't know what the point of this self-indulgent ass post is, but I thought I'd make my triumphant return to blogging a good one. After all, what's the internet for?