my sister's boyfriend groks drew. he's even an avid reader. this is a Bad Thing and I'll tell you why: he could be a horrible person, a murderous boy band-listening drug-dealing baby-eating paris hilton-loving nazi, or a dentist, yet I would still like him solely because he likes drew.
all right he's none of those awful things. the point I'm trying to get across is that JEN you must marry him, it is now your highest calling in life to make sure his genes get carried on.
seriously now. on the day I met him, I also saw him—through the magic of 1980s-era video recording equipment—in a diaper. he could laugh at himself and that's a good sign. also jen we have it on tape that you are not the angelic angel that you (for some reason) remember yourself to be. here it occurs to me that you are the reason I have never enjoyed christmas.
anyway. conclusion: from the little I've seen he's a good person and funny, so whatever makes you happy makes me happy. and I think he makes you happy. but I ceased having to be your big brother a long long time ago, when I realized you could beat up any boy in school (myself excluded).
audrey tautou is going to be in the movie'd da vinci code. think of the implications: very soon there will be more audrey tautou posters in the world. it is cold outside but my heart is profoundly warm.
donald rumsfeld consistently looks
a. utterly confused
b. ridiculously squinty
c. drunk/hung over
d. jet lagged
e. all of the above.
(the answer is the one you might expect.)
it recently came to my attention that to my transatlantic cohorts, the word 'wanker' is far more offensive than I had been led to believe. having previously called a few of them wankers (though without malice and honestly in good humor), I feel the need to apologize.
at night I lie awake in bed never less than an hour. never.
if I could change one thing about myself, would this be it?
tonight, I can't think of anything else.