You know what's funny?

I don't even like lattes. Or coffee, for that matter.

As I sit here at my kitchen table studying the difference between uncials and half uncials (and other such important calligraphic history nuggets) I can't help but think: I'd drown a puppy in my toilet bowl for a mojito with a splash of extra lime.

I haven't got a single thing to say!

Subtitle: A Letter To My Best Friend Connie

I thought I'd sit down and write you an email, but the truth is that I don't even have anything to report! In light of this, I'm just going to ramble for 8-10 minutes and hope you don't put your head through your computer monitor anywhere in the process of reading it!

I go back to class today after a very uneventful Spring Break. (I think I'm going to call it Spring Broken). A large part of the break was spent doing homework or thinking about homework. What happened to the good ol' days when you could hop a plane to Cancun with 18 of your closest friends and drink for five days straight? Not that I'd ever want to do that, but I'd like to think I at least have the option.

I got a new printer yesterday. This is probably the most boring think you've ever heard, but I'm an unrivaled loser so it has been the highlight of my life thus far. It prints up to 13" x 44" and it cost me $300 that I don't really have to spend. Isn't it sad? Remember when I used to blow my money on genuinely important things like messenger bags and winter scarves? I'm not going to lie, though. I thought for a second about how many decent pairs of pants I could have bought instead. I should write a letter to my former self telling him what a failure I've become and warning him not to make the same mistakes.

That is a direct Will & Grace reference. I watch Will & Grace every day. At least twice a day. TiVo records it for me any time it is shown anywhere in the known universe. I think I'm trying to delude myself into thinking that it's not really ending this season. I get sad when I think about it ending. Not really sad for myself, but sad for the cast. Sure, Megan Mullally has a talk show lined up and I'm sure Eric McCormack will be going right back to the stage, but what about poor Debra Messing? What else can she put on her resume? Ned and Stacy?

I really don't want to go to class today. My teacher looks like Paula Abdul would have had she not had any work done and acts even crazier. I've already told you that she hears voices in her head. Well, I found out the week before break that she's been giving me C's on my projects because she thinks I'm Andrew. I'm so glad she grades based on who we are and not on what we do. Also, Andrew has a unibrow and I'm not quite sure how to interpret that.

See? I didn't have a single thing to say! Now tell me what's going on in your life. I think this is one time when it's safe to say our lives are not running parallel. Unless you got a new printer too. And then we can give them matching names!

love you bye!
Taylor-

ps...I'm so posting this on my blog. You know, two birds, one stone, blah blah blah. It's not like there's anything private in there about you. Oh, have the crabs cleared up?

I just helped J do the crossword puzzle.

I suppose "helped" is a strong word considering I really only contributed the words boa, angora, and catalog.

I suddenly feel gayer than Christmas.

When I just tried to leave a comment on someone else's blog I was prompted with a set of four characters and a field in which I was supposed to type those four characters to prove that I am a "real person."

Well, apparently, I am hardly a real person because it took me several tries.

So last night was Oscar night.

From my observations I've ascertained that only one thing was hotter than nude-colored dresses (or buff or cream or oyster or honeysuckle or whatever you want to call it): being completely insane.

Exhibit A: Lauren Bacall. I don't care if she's 432-years-old. She was crazy last night. Or having a stroke. Or something.

Exhibit B: The team that won for March of the Penguins. Great movie. Seriously demented people. There must be some rule in the Oscar handbook that bans the toting of plushies onstage for an acceptance speech. If not, I'm sure there's one now.

Exhibit C: Charlize Theron. Jac said it looked like she had a penguin on her shoulder. What the fuck was that? I'm sure whoever was sitting behind her was pissed between the up-do and the fashion-don't.

Exhibits D & E: Diana Ossana and Larry McMurtry (Adapted Screenplay - Brokeback Mountain). Why was she audibly sighing during her speech? I was waiting for her to say, "Fuck it, man. This shit is boooooring." And he looked like one of those picture books you played with as a kid when you could mix and match heads, torsos, and legs from different people. Someone mixed maitre d' with cowboy and it wasn't even remotely funny.

So there. That's my Oscar recap.

That would be a really good reason!

The truth is that I've just been preoccupied. Not busy, just preoccupied. Sometimes I just need to prioritize and sometimes things like school, the Olympics, and blue raspberry snow cones (not necessarily in that order) come before blogging.

It's worth talking about, though. It's weird how something so public can suddenly feel so private. I imagine this is what it would feel like to have your porn discovered by your parents. Minus the naked men. I think. (Kate, have there ever been any naked men in my blog?) It's an almost unfounded feeling, though, because it's not like it was stashed in a drawer or under the mattress or some other ingenious hiding place. People, we're talking about the Internet here. The World. Wide. Web. It's world-wide! I'd have had a better shot at privacy wearing my daily thoughts on a sandwich board and walking around Times Square (mostly because people would inevitably think I was just advertising MEN'S SUITS!!!! 75% OFF!!!! BUY NOW!!!).

But then I wouldn't be heard. I don't know why we feel like we need to be heard. Those of us who blog, we just need to be heard. Why? We want people to read our thoughts and ideas and opinions and anecdotes and daily bullshit and we want feedback or validation or something. Oh, and we want hits! Hits and links! "How many hits did you get last week?" "Did you see who linked to me yesterday?" More links equals more hits equals more readers equals more validation. It's funny then, isn't it, when we get that one reader we weren't expecting? How could anyone be unexpected (see: World Wide Web)?

I suppose I don't really fall into the category of a "blogger" anymore, because, well, that would entail actually keeping up with this thing. Those of you who have been along for the long haul know that I have a habit of just letting these fall into desuetude. In the past, when I've stopped writing, it was mostly because I no longer needed the validation. Maybe that's a little sad or pathetic, but it's true.

Since I've been with Jac my need for this validation has been next to null. He fills what used to be a big, ugly, gaping void the size of Lake Superior (it's the largest of the Great Lakes, you know). So maybe now I don't need to put so much weight on this thing and use it simply to share my thoughts with the friends that I don't talk to very often (yeah, that would be all of you...).

I've got to be honest, though. Snow Cone season has only just started out here and Jac doesn't know how to work the ice shaver, which puts me on ice-shaving double duty. If it comes down to posting here or making another blue raspberry snow cone then you won't be hearing from me. A boy has to have priorities.