I procrastinated (read: walked around in my undies dyeing my hair) all morning and have spent the last hour rushing around throwing clothes at random into a bag and then pulling them out again to fit in the red cowboy boots.
Because you don't go see Jay-Z in your Tom's. I know you feel me.
Tonight I am flying off to the land where the palm trees sway. No, not that land. To L.A., where apparently it is raining.
I don't care because I just know I'm going to see Jensen Ackles. Or Nathan Fillion. Or both, probably both. And they're gonna be all like, "Here, lady Vesuvius, let us purchase you that massive corned beef sandwich and mocha with whip on our fancy black credit cards. Perchance would you like to consume it in our limousine?"
Speaking of Mr.'s Ackles and Fillion, I'm working on a post of Seven for Thursday.
Thanks to The M Half for tagging me for said post.
I think there is a highly domestic ghost in my house who keeps opening the dishwasher and changing the thermostat, but that is a matter for another time.
Au revoir, mon cheries. See you Thursday. Until then--
Keep it real.