This. Ever.
Note to self:
You know that look, that one where you’re running late and have to go out and do some boring errands, so you grab a pair of leggings but not the stirrup pants because you do, after all, have some standards, and you throw your sister’s hand-me-down cotton cableknit “fat” sweater on overtop of that and you lace up your most broken-down pair of sneakers and you reach for your Dad’s Cowichan sweater because it’s cosy, waterproof, and big enough to go over the ever-so-slightly-massive sweater, but only if you pick hem of the sweater up all around and tuck it into a sort of blob out front of you and zip the jacket up before the sweater mass makes a break for it?
You know that look?
Remember to wear that the next time you want someone to give you their seat on the bus in the mistaken belief that the little bundle of joy is due any second.
No reason I know that works…
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In that very six-degrees way, I am connected to Britney. I know a guy whose (cousin? brother-in-law? sumpin’) had the job of driving her around town while she was here filming Crossroads. He said she was a just sweet, dumb Southern girl looking for a fun time who just happened to have millions of dollars and millions of fans. She’d hop in the van at the end of the day and ask, “So where do you want to go for dinner? Can we pick up your friends?” and they would, all twelve or fifteen of them, and Britney would always pay the tab. So all the nasty things one might say have to be mitigated by the fact that she really is just a decent kid at heart.
She’s not the world’s greatest actress, but you certainly can’t tell it from the press she’s been getting lately; they’ve swallowed her ridiculous script whole. This is not how people who are going insane actually act; this is how people who are acting insane but whose agent hasn’t been able to get them good material act.
raincoaster 