Friday, October 2, 2009

If There's A Rocket Tie Me To It

It's raining. We had one day of sunshine this week, and not one day over 60. Gah. This is going to be a shitty fall. Sweet.

The other night I had a strange dream. I dreamt that I was best friends forever with none other than Mr. David Beckham of soccery fame. Mind you, I know very little about Senor Beckham. All I know is that he is 1.) married to Miss Skinny Posh Spice, 2.) plays soccer, 3.) had a movie made about him with Keira Knightly, and 4.) is not generally liked by the U.S. soccer fans because he failed to deliver when he played for the LA Galaxy.

But anyway. Me and Becks (that's what I called him) were BFFs, and it was kind of funny, in a weird '80s montage from a cheesy Brat Pack movie kind of way. He had that pretty careless hair and I had my insanely nutty hair and we drove around in a red Ferrari convertable. We hung out and drank Gatorade and vodka (it probably tastes gross in real life, but in my dream it was mine and Becks' drink of choice). Nicky played with his boys and he offered to teach Nicky how to play soccer. I think Little Poshie hated me, but I'm not sure because she always looked angry and hungry. He even sent me an email while I was at work. It went a bit like this:

Hello there best friend! How are you? I'm good, at home. God, Victoria is such a bitch! I'm reading your blog at the moment. Very funny stuff, mate.
As always, Becks

I don't really know what would cause me to have a weird David Beckham dream. I'm not a huge soccer enthusiast--I prefer basketball and American football. All I can think of is that I've been sick all week and I lost my voice Wednesday and I drank nothing but tea all day. Tea is from England, all that "tea time" stuff, so maybe all that tea led me to dreaming about Brits? That's what I'm going with.

And...Argent left me a question last week, but in the insanity of my naughty former high school music teacher and his inability to leave certain students (no, not me...thank god!) alone and my crazy weird cold that isn't really a cold but I'm sick nonetheless, I didn't blog. Here's the question:
If you could commit one crime with no chance of geting caught, what crime would you commit right now?

Good question. I'm dying to move out of my parents' house, but due to their unreasonable amounts of money I pay for rent, I cannot save up my money to get my dream apartment. It's two buildings from my job. It's perfect. Perfect.

My dad, however, rivals several evil dictators on our planet for the title of #1 Evil Dictator, and refuses to lower the amount I pay so I can save up and move into said dream apartment. He acts like me moving out at 23 is unheard of. I'll be 24 in December, and I'm just so frustrated with all of it, so I'd say I'd steal a huge diamond worth hundreds of millions of dollars. I'd move out and be happy.

And on a final note, it's still raining. And it's 48 degrees. XO

1 comment:

  1. Hi, great to see ya and what a great answer to my question! I can't believe someone's Dad woudl charge them big rents (is he doing it just to keep his lil girl at home?). Hope you shake off you sickie. England does run on tea.


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