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I believe in voodoo and witchcraft. My roommate during freshman year orientation in college was a practicing witch. She was just your average 18 year old waif with an athame in her luggage. People who don't believe in that kind of thing will routinely say that it's all based on coincidence. That wind rising, it's not because it was called, it's just windy. And that old woman giving you the evil eye? Well, it's all in your head. But I'm a firm believer in being nice to people, you know, just in case.

Anyway. Roger Ebert better hope that I'm wrong, otherwise his liver and colon are toast. That'll teach him to be mean to someone with connections! Heh.

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There's something seriously gratifying about not knowing what you want for lunch and then just randomly coming across a restaurant and then instantly just knowing that you're going to find the perfect thing.

Today was that day for me -- I ended up getting seafood tempura from a little restaurant in the Suburban Station concourse. I think they must put crack in their tempura batter and miso soup because I'm just inhaling my lunch. And it's exactly the thing that I wanted to eat, without me knowing it.

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm....tempura.

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I really like OPI nailpolish, particularly their New York polishes. But there's no way in hell I'd ever spend the $5 for a bottle for my pet. I hate to see animals who have been accessorized by their owners -- whether it's kerchiefs, sweaters, hats, or nail polish.

There's a panhandler outside the nearest Wawa whose hook is to dress his dog up in a little pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a Spongebob back pack. Every time I walk past I think of how humiliated the dog must be. He's got a little hole cut into the pants so his tail and assorted other parts can be free, and he looks idiotic. Do you think he's got low self esteem from constantly being dressed up? Do the other dogs make fun of him?

I just know I'll get flamed for this, but animals who are wearing clothes and other assorted things just look sad, like they're contemplating suicide because they have to look silly. Fido might like his spiked, electric blue dog collar, but he isn't digging the red bandana you've tied around his neck. Pretty soon people will be piercing their pets' ears or something.

There is one exception to this rule: small dogs sometimes need sweaters when being walked because they lack the body heat not to freeze to death. I still think they look embarrassed for it, but I understand the necessity.

[OPI dog polish news link found via Red-headed Slut.]

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I have absolutely no interest in being buried when I die. If all goes well, a couple of my organs will still be usable for organ donation -- so those will be harvested and then I'll be cremated and my ashes will be spread [clandestinely, of course] in the Haunted Mansion at Disney in Orlando.

But if I were to buried in the traditional way, I'd totally want this casket. Or maybe this one. I'd request to be dressed like Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, complete with blue face and blueberry body, and at the height of the viewing I'd be animatronically programmed to rise out of my stunningly funny coffin and pelt the mourners with gummy bears. Then I'd slump back in my coffin and the lid would slam shut and lock. And the coffin, when locked, would be programmed to whisper "I see dead people!"

Yeah, it's better that I go with the cremation.

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I have never understood the draw of Barry Manilow. I like to sing Copacabana at the top of my lungs as much as the next person, but there's no way I could sit through a Barry Manilow concert without creatively trying to kill myself with my stadium seat.

It's bad enough I saw Air Supply in concert and lived to tell the sad tale.

Still, I think it's strangely tragic and hilariously funny that Barry broke his nose and knocked himself unconscious by walking into a wall in the middle of the night.

Do you know how hard you'd have to slam into a wall to break your own nose and pass out for four hours? That just doesn't seem possible.

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I have to admit something awful. I watched the season premiere of The Real World last night.

Can you believe that shit has been on for 13 fucking seasons? I remember watching the first season. It was on right around the time My So-Called Life aired. Of course, that was the last time The Real World was interesting...or even remotely real. As I recall there was a nice loft but it wasn't exactly a palatial estate in Paris.

Speaking of which, that was the only reason I wanted to watch it: Paris. Every time they showed a different thing in Paris, all I could think was "Hey, I was just there! Wooo!" and then I got all depressed because I want to be there.

I don't know that I'll be able to stomach watching any more of it, though. What a bunch of fucking wankers. I openly cringed watching them act out the Stereotypical American. The only one who doesn't seem completely wretched is the kid from Ireland. And why are all the girls so enamored of that guy Ace? He's not hot in the slightest -- he's got Bobby Brady hair.

Plus, as noted already, these smacked asses have been able to watch The Real World for 12 years. Haven't they learned anything? Like how not to look stupid on camera? And couldn't they learn to speak even a little bit of French before going to live in Paris? Dumbasses.