Gustatus similis pullus - tastes like chicken.

Moi:

I’ve run into a door.
I’ve tripped up stairs.
I’ve walked into a lamp-post.
I’ve threatened a video game console.
I’ve forgotten something really important but thought of something incredibly stupid at the same time.
(While sober) I’ve tripped over my own feet.
I’ve worn my left and right shoes on the wrong feet.
I’ve burst out laughing in a quiet room for no reason at all.
I had a ten minute conversation with a highly intelligent spoon once.
I’ve burst into song in a public place.

And you know something? I’m proud of it.

Don’t tell me the sky is the limit

when there are footsteps

on the moon.

Hmm... I have this incredibly childish and somewhat whimsical conviction, which I like to voice to random people, that the moon is made of cheese.

Wouldn’t that be awesome? Yes.

Why? Because cheese is awesome.

My logic – If you can’t convince people, than confuse ‘em.

Sourire!

So this person waves to me yesterday, then he comes up to me and says ‘oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,’ and I go ‘I am.’

I’m in the most peculiar mood right now, the type where I am liable to blurt out a random stream of nonsense before lapsing into silence while everyone stares at me utterly confused.

Apart from three friends I am simply not managing anyone else’s love lives for the next week and a half or so. So that means no more chaperoning, passing on messages or anything of that effect. Sorry but I’m just swamped right now and I have some personal stuff of my own to figure out.

“Nobody said life would be fair, they just said it would be worth it.”