So I tried to order a keg yesterday for this party we're having tomorrow night---because, you know, I don't have eight million things to do before I leave the country so I thought tomorrow I'd spend the morning making 75 deviled eggs and the afternoon stringing Christmas lights from the trees in the garden---and I called a local grocery store because someone had told me they knew they did kegs. I was transfered between four different people before they finally put me through to the bakery, at which point I did think "hmm, the bakery, that's weird, but whatever---maybe they liaise with the liquor department." And then I had a ten minute conversation with the woman in the bakery about ordering a keg, and it was only when she asked me how I wanted my keg to be frosted, that I realized I'd just spent ten minutes ordering a CAKE.
Also, I discovered yesterday that Sean has spent all twenty-nine years and ten months of his life under the impression that cheapo beer Pabst Blue Ribbon is actually Pat's Blue Ribbon. And when I called him out on it---"but who is this Pat? And why does he have a ribbon?"---he was all "well, what's PABST? Why would it be PABST? That's not a word!"
Finally, I have an idea. It's a self-indulgent, lazy idea, but I think you'll find that that's me all over, so maybe it's really only fitting. I have a four and a half hour layover in Newark on Monday, and although I'm debating the idea of taking a cab to IKEA to pass the time, I'll probably most likely buy every tabloid with Lindsay Lohan on the front and sit in the airport lounge inhaling Starbust for the entire extent of it.
But there is an alternative! What if you helped me out? What if you gave me an assignment? What if you left me a question in the comments section, and then I swore I'd answer it, unless it was about, like, what I wear to sleep in or something, because that might kind of creep me out? What if we did that?
Go on! There must be something about me you want to know. And if not, just pretend there is. Pretend I'm a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a half-price cashmere sweater from the Banana Republic outlet. Ask away! And I'll write my answers from terminal 4 at Newark while I'm waiting for my plane to London. Then I'll post them like an FAQ, like I think I'm all important and shit.