I'm Only Happy When It Rains

Sometimes it amazes me that people (I really wish I could name some names here, but the list is long and could cost me my job, friends and perhaps even my very life) can be so stupid yet still remember to breathe in and out without having to follow a set of instructions…

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Repeat as necessary.

And yet, there they are, barely able to remember their own names yet they still keep themselves alive so they can continue to annoy the rest of us. And they have this unique ability to be stupid in such a way that it is impossible to ignore them or pretend they simply don’t exist. And then I have to think “wha, whaddddddd I, wha, whadddddddddd I do” to deserve this? Perhaps it is the price one pays for living an otherwise fabulous and enviable life.

Speaking of the fabulous and enviable, Nik and Marco (see Marco, the adjectives that just seem to be coming your direction these days – It boggles the mind, it really does.) have left the rainy skies of Europe for the usually sunny and sandy shores of Hawaii, and now I feel I owe them an apology. See, all they wanted was a wicky, wacky, Waikiki holiday, but I was so jealous, as only a true friend can be, that I put my brand new Aussie Bum underwear on my head, grabbed a hairbrush to act as microfone and did an ancient Polynesian raindance around my small and scantily furnished living room. I just checked out the forecast on Live.com and it seems that I was a smashing success. The next 3 days are filled with rain. Sorry guys, I feel horrible, I really do, like this was somehow all my fault. I was just dancing, shaking my J-Lo like bon-bon like my love really doesn’t cost a thing and now, it seems that when you shake a bum in one place, it causes a rain storm in another. But don’t worry, Nik, when I am at your flat this weekend, I will borrow a cashmere sweater and feel all better.