A supernova, or the magnitudinal equivalent in realization form: My worlds would collide this evening as I sat back in my dress socks and gym shorts, watching my favorite youtube videos to pass the minutes. I've been obsessed with a certain Dave Chappelle skit for awhile -- a certain Diddy's Making the Band parody. Another recent obsession is Justin Timberlake's music video for his single, "My Love," because there are flying violins, and he's wearing a vest, which I am currently trying to bring back, and, also, tube lights. These are my two very favorite things on youtube, and my two very favorite things to talk about. I don't even think I talk about cats this much.
What's really important though: Sit down. They both last exactly 6:11. Six minutes and eleven seconds.
I know. Sit back down. Calm yourself. The world is still rotating and still revolving around the sun. But is this a sign? I've been becoming more and more superstitious all the time. Ever since Sharon told me about the west winds and the weird ESP with her brother and I thought about the thing with Kristy and the Driveway and the other stuff, I've been more apt to take things as "signs," something I've never done before. Could it mean that June 11th is going to be the day I die? That the woman I'll marry will be 6'11"? God, that would make for some awkward vacation pictures. But who knows. I just get more and more wary of the Fates, more and more superstitious. But then again, if I keep watching youtube in all my spare minutes, I fear I'll become more and more engrossed, and, thusly, more and more bovine.
Got milk?
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For the record, Dave, it's the northeast wind that causes me so many problems.
I also know someone who has a theory about humans having a photosensitive response, which I happen to believe in, too. Some days, when it is really cold, I'll feel really warm because the sun is shining at a certain angle in the sky. And because I am constantly pissing myself. Oh bladder, how I adore thee.
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